The Uchiha's Wife
by Ombree
Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death and chaos she will be the life and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.
1. The Union

**Chapter 1**  
The Union

* * *

 _Spring_.  
Pale rose-colored strands. Viridian ocular windows bearing the uncertainty of what was to become her new life. Milky unblemished skin outside of a simple pale purple mark on her forehead peaks out from the cheongsam of deep rich colors.

She was otherworldly.  
An absolute _nymph of spring_.  
An absolute contrast to the ebony strands, pupils, and pale complexion observing her with lackadaisical attempt.

 _Annoying_.

She shifted. _Ah_.  
Had he said it out loud?

Her brows had pinched together from uncertainty to distaste. Her emotions decorating her openly before him. He held no time for her feelings, and wants. He spoke again this time. This time he was intending to. Not to her though. Never to her.

This was war. He did not have time to play the role of husband nor the desire to do so. Her viridian never left his features as if she was digesting all that was before her.

Healer.  
That was the only thing that had brought her to him.  
 _Take her before the Senju did_.  
Madara had been certain of this as if it was the only thing that mattered.

They treated her immediately with subtle interest, but correctly. Recognizing her place as his wife even without question. She would adapt. She would follow without question. She knew her place beside him. The otherworldly creature before him held the recognition of her new status. She did not fight following the Uchiha he had handed her off too.

 _Strong_.  
He was told she was strong. Petite hands that held strength that shattered fields and yet hands that could bring forth recovery should she so wished it, and wished it she did. The tales that had been spoke among his clan weaved themselves into a design he could not understand. These tales had come to the forefront of this _marriage_. The word was bitter, and so very unloving.

This woman did not see sides. She did not recognize Uchiha from Senju. She only recognized the need to heal. She had healed the enemy. She had healed the friend. She had healed the bystander. She had healed in her unknown village, that held unknown clans of no importance in this game of politics and power.

She would know now.  
There would be no Senju here for her to give her kindness too.

Their marriage would be dealt with properly upon his return. It would be but simple paper till then.

Stepping softly down the long open hall the painted sky graced his home with colors of reds, and yellows, pinks, and oranges, his home quieting in the wait for nightfall. His steps falling off to gaze at his open garden teasing him with his cherry tree in bloom.

His next mission already given, and set to begin in the early morning—set to begin only half a day after meeting _her_.

Madara had insisted "She is of convenience and nothing more."

Her muffled cries did nothing to raise empathy within him. His fingers grasping the door as if ready to slide it open at a moments notice. Only hours had transpired between their meeting and when he had casually handed her off to his subordinate, Hikaku, before heading to his mission briefing.

He held the smallest of interest in giving her, her solitude. He found he cared little for such things though sliding the door open. Those viridian eyes find his instantly and he finds himself taking her in once more. Bloodshot, and strained glassed over viridian hold his gaze, as he recognizes their color seemingly brighter in her sorrow. Her rose-colored chin length strands darkened with her tears sticking to her cheeks as the full length spilled around her, and her cheongsam twisted around her form.

He does not waste his time with words—its easier to avoid such things. He was not a man of many words to start. It would be best for her to realize this now. She has now placed her arm in front of her eyes as if to shield her face from his gaze. He takes it from her form giving her as she desires. He could not give her love. He could not give her compassion. He could give her this, though.

His disrobing begins and he hears her shuffle behind him. He holds no interest in this woman to dare look back at her as she begins her own. His sleeping robe settles onto his shoulders as he sets to tie it wrapping it only once before tucking in the fabric. His ears pick up the delicate sound of her shuddered exhale as she slides herself into the futon she had sat upon in her sorrow. He takes his place into his own that is settled next to her. His eyes fall upon her form as he slides himself in. She has brought those long locks to settle in front of her giving way to her neck that dares peak from her robe. He closes his eyes settling on his side to face the wall then to eye the woman who will now become part of his life.

 _It's not as though he'd be sleeping as it was_.

* * *

The household is in full life as the sun basks it's rays upon them giving good fortune and hope for success. His armor and honor on display across his being as he prepares for his departure. He finds her at the door way among her handmaid and his comrades. She is held together in more deep rich reds and whites but has taken their fashion in, making it all her own. Her kimono long and detailed showcasing her almost empress status, those long locks braided and tamed no longer spilling from her in waves, and those eyes enhanced and bold with thick liner, and thicker lashes. Their eyes meet as his focus is only fleeting upon his newly acquired wife. He has a victory to claim. A mission to accomplish.

His comrades, those he trusts to help him acquire such victory, seem to share his fleeting focus on her, and grip themselves for their departure. The maid gives her farewells in proper account his wife doing none of the sort. Her viridian showcasing her disdain for the him as he walks past her without a word.

He could care not what the spring nymph holds towards him.

* * *

He was there one moment in time and then gone again the next, and yet she could not find it in her to care for the man who had obtained her. Her gifts, and abilities were sought out and now officially acquired, and not by the side she would have foreseen.

The girl could not understand the power struggle of men.

Could she have put up a fight?  
Yes.

Would she had lived when Madara Uchiha had come to claim her?  
No.

A faint smile decorates her lips as she wanders her way from the door her husband and his comrades have left through. The painted smile is of cheap quality and only serves to hold the place of the firm line her mouth had desired to stay in.

The footsteps of her handmaid are behind her as the handmaid begins to explain what is expected of her. Visitation of another is set to enter her home, and she will not be allowed to explore her new home just yet.

Tears were not needed now. The frustration she had allowed herself to be swallowed by the previous day was no longer a place she could return to. Sakura had known of this man well before she had set her gaze on him. His name was known throughout the land even in the small village she was lifted from. Sasuke Uchiha was a cruel man.

Her clan, the Haruno, held far different traditions, clothing-styles, and treatment among their members. They were small though, and held no large part among the powerhouses that had divided the land.

Little did these two sides seem to realize that in that division there was truly no difference between them when hurt, broken, and dead. There was no definition of friend or foe present. There was only bodies.

The rose-colored _newlywed_ —it made a soft scoff escape her lips as the word played in her mind—looked toward her handmaid stopping in the unfamiliar kitchen that was to become her own.

"Uchiha-sama, your guest is to arrive in only a matter of time. What would you like to serve them?"

She held her hand up to silence any further question, "I will serve them tea. You are dismissed." as if her words held no power the handmaid had made no motion to leave her side seeming unsure.

"Speak." those forever searching eyes found the maids in that moment not pleased. It seemed even with the title being on paper she was not being recognized.

"Pardon me, Uchiha-sama, but would you not like me to assist you in these matters? It would be shameful to leave you to make such things."

Closing her eyes she took in a sharp exhale. So this was the traditions of their women? The maids provided while she was expected to play the roll of doll only to be useful when necessary. These were not her families customs. The wife provided more than just care for her husband. She was to rule her home—when he was not there to do so—in more than just a name carrier.

"No. I will be the one to make the tea, and handle our guest. Please see to your other duties until I am finished with our guest."

The hesitation had lingered but only for a small moment in time before she left her side leaving her to her own devices. The kitchen was large in size and was very much what she assumed was traditional to his people. This man seemed to thrive on his clan, his people, and his traditions.

She would need to adjust. She would need to learn. She would have to bite the tongue that wanted to desperately to hiss.

The guest that come to her had been polite. He held similar appearance and manners that she had found in her husband in the short hours they had gazed upon one another.

 _Izuna Uchiha_.  
 _Brother of Madara Uchiha_.

She questioned if all Uchiha men held such a stoic nature and endless pools of ebony that made up their aesthetic. This one held a formality to him though. He knew his power. He knew his place well. He held polite conversation as they touched on the topic that had brought her to where she was now.

Sakura had expected the meeting to be more informational, and yet it seemed he had come to simply check on her meeting with her husband. She gave nods, and short answers. This man before her was seeking something from her and that was all she could be sure of.

The slight upward tilt of his mouth as he had given his farewell sent her skin ablaze with curiosity at what he had found. It was in these moments as he left outside her new home that she realized she had missed a chance. This missed moment in time was a moment she could have used to understand this power crazed clan. It had been blaring her in the face with opportunity and in her guarded manner she had overlooked her chance.

* * *

No words ever came from her husband directly she would soon learn as information found its way to her through her handmaid in the early mornings. It had been surprising that she would have heard anything only seven days into his departure. Sakura found it incredibly odd to a point. Fingers ran themselves through her stands as she and the handmaid traveled the town taking in this new place for her to call home.

The stares found her easily enough—how could they not with her stark contrast to the ones who ruled over them with an iron fist? It's easy enough to tell who is of her newly acquired family, and who is an innocent, a bystander, and simply living under their rule. The eyes of the innocent that fall upon her are kind and almost seem to question her existence. Those of the Uchiha look upon her with the subtle interest but dismiss her. She guesses they do not know of her role yet.

 _They will soon_.

The soft smile she had placed on her lips never fell though. The rose-colored woman would let them drink her in and swallow her whole.

The clinic had been one of the first things she had sought to see. Healing was one of her best strengths, and deepest of passions. It was what Izuna said had made Madara seek her out no less.

This place of healing was sure to become one she frequented. If her dear husband had thought she would find her time entertaining the loneliness of their home as he brought pain into the world he was wrong. Observing the seemingly constant fluctuation of people entering and leaving it brought her mind to a place she questioned if she'd ever gaze upon again. It was by no means a large clinic, but no where near as small as the one she had helped in back home.

"Tell me of my home." the handmaid seemed unprepared for her sudden vocal request.

This woman before her spoke so highly of a clan she had only heard the horrors of. She spoke with absolute clarity when describing her husband. She spoke of a pride that Sakura found confusing, and questioned.

"The Uchiha protect us all. They give us hope for peace. They give us a home when ours are gone."

She could feel the smile on the woman's lips without setting her eyes upon her maid, "You do not harbor distaste for the Uchiha?"

The maid stops at her words as if she the words she spoke where foreign and not of their own tongue, "I do not understand your question, Uchiha-sama. The Senju are the ones who have brought about fear, and have taken those precious to us away."

Did war do this to people?  
Did war make them take sides and twist the very fabric of black and white?  
Did it cast aside the right and wrongs?

This maid, she thinks, will teach her well.

* * *

Fourteen days.  
 _Blood splattered_.  
War torn.  
 _Exhausted_.

It is only fourteen days since his departure and he has claimed his small victory for his people. He has gained them another win in this devastatingly long war. The travel back is long with only small talk among his men, and those from other fractions following. Their hearts are bursting with the excitement of returning home.

They are welcomed back with praise and cheer. The lanterns that line the main path through their village light seemingly for them. Flags of deep rich reds, similar he notes to that of the kimono she had worn in his departure, line the road way as vibrantly as the lanterns. Their people look to tend to their every ache and pain. He catches no glimpse of rose-colored hair and then all at once it is wrapping him up completely. Deep within their village at the clinic she is there. She is outside taking people from the line. She is tending, healing, and comforting the spoils of war. The children without homes, and the bystanders caught in the cross fire of this political struggle.

Her lips are turned into a soft smile as she calms the child presently in her care. Her eyes display a humor that only she seems to understand. The lines are long as they await their turn to enter. Yet she continues to pull from the list as if she were apart of the medics inside. The children go to her easily enough, those with families following suit.

The Uchiha do not.

They cannot understand her just as he could not. They recognize her as his wife even though the celebration has not occurred. This nymph of spring has her handmaid in panic at her antics. Their eyes finally meet and the doe-eyed spring nymph holds no shame in what she is doing. She holds no shame in acting as more than his wife.

He finds his steps to her before he knows or understands what he's doing. Those glowing hands of hers leave the injured victim of circumstance, spoils as he would call them. She stands tall to meet him fully in his gaze refusing to back down as if he had come to stop her. Her hand finds its way to his arm. It's warmth covers him as it glows once more. Her lips are pressed in a firm line. She was given to him for this purpose and he does not stop her. She finally breaks the eye contact as her lashes softly close around her optics as if she is concentrating. The flesh under the wrapping is mending and she lets out a light breath as she tastes her words carefully.

"Welcome home, Uchiha-sama."

Her fingers dance across the cloth, and armor as if seeking more injuries. His are injuries are light. He is unsure of this closeness she has took upon herself to create. Endless ebony follows her every move, and in just moments she is gone and he is walking away leaving her to her own devices. The praises and bows that follow those he passes are nothing but a blur as he makes his way to his home.

* * *

Sakura finds her husband's routine when home is simple to follow, and easy to work around. The thought that she had, had was proven wrong when she made her way back within her new home. For all the tales of horror, and absolute strength his name carried she had believed she would be scolded for helping heal at the clinic that night.

Only days into his return though she stopped thinking such things. The expectations she had held of him through tales alone where starting to weave themselves into pure myths. This man she stole gazes of kept himself busy. He trained relentlessly for missions to come. This man would always find his way into his garden from the engawa. The beauty it held was not one she had expected or become familiar with in this short span of time. The garden seemed to be his place of retreat when relaxing. This man read quietly and spoke of very little. Conversation was not one he seemed diverse in. She noted his retreat into one room in particular her handmaid she noted did not frequent or explain.

It left her to ponder on her own what was behind those sliding paper doors. It whispered to her curiosity asking to be peeked into. It wasn't until he left one particular morning that she took that moment to enter all on her own, and quickly regretted her curiosity. The guilt of invading this privacy he seemed to hold in this room washed over her instantly.

Those viridian eyes wandered over the kamidana. The memorial shrine was unbelievably beautiful, and yet she felt herself choking as the pictures of the deceased looked back at her. There was no question who they were. Those pictured had been kind in giving their son their best features.

In moments she found herself seated in front of them. Their traditions still foreign to her, and so as not to bring dishonor to them, and to herself she gave but a prayer to them. It is here she hopes for them to have found happiness in the afterlife. There is a hope that they held good merit before King Yan.

She does not wish to impose upon his privacy longer than she already has and slides the door closed behind her lingering in the hallway. The home is enveloped in silence as she finally takes her fingers from the door and presses them to her chest.

How much had this man _lost_ in this war?  
Was this his motivation to fight?

Thoughts of what makes this man who he is, and what pushes his actions fall off at hearing him in the entry way. Today she finds it hard to look at him with the same level of disdain she had in his departure. It is forced out in this moment by sympathy at losing such loved ones so early.

The disdain would return in the morning.

* * *

The wedding is glorious, and filled with noise outside the shrine. All around them is filled with whispers of hope in this joining bringing forth a good omen, and others look on to recognize this forever binding contract before him.

His mother and father no longer living, his brother a _traitor_ lending his strength to the Senju.

In their place Madara has appeared with his highest of rank.

They share a long stare of understanding before he tells him he was not needed for such an event. Madara simply casts the gesture aside giving into formality establishing politely, "I would not miss one of my right hand's union—especially my sister's son."

The smirk that plays across his features is more than enough for him to dismiss the conversation.

He no longer cares to play politics and only longs to get the traditions over with. He finds himself playing his part as things progress. This otherworldly creature takes such tradition and turns it exotic with those features that so very much are hers seemingly capturing her audience. There is the briefest of thoughts towards if she had fought to not wear the shiromuku. He again finds himself unable to care if there had been a fuss on her end.

They begin their rituals so obviously foreign to the woman beside him. They exchange lucky objects, provide their wedding vows, share their nuptial cups, and continue down the long line of traditions.

He has no immediate family to play the part. Madara, his closest living relative from his mother's side, has taken their place. He finds he is okay with these choices and decisions. Her family is there to play their own part understanding the rituals easily as if practiced. He looks upon these two now understanding how a nymph of spring could be born. Her father's hair was darker but still that of a rose-color, and her mother had not followed their traditions in her cheongsam with viridian eyes showing the same disdain he had found in her daughters.

The Uchiha were not welcomed among all. It was not uncommon. They were thought of as cruel outside of their own and those that followed their feelings and beliefs. He would not find shock in her being a Senju follower. It did not matter. They held her daughter and now she would follow Uchiha.

The reception is quiet and he welcomes the change of pace. His village is bursting in celebration outside more than when the rituals had taken place. He will be displaying his wife among them and allowing them to take full recognition of who it is that they will be following, and obeying in his absences.

Her uchikake is a soft gradient of white to red with gold trimmings, and cranes. It's intricate flowers, and patterns are only overshadowed by the Uchiha fan that stands proudly upon her back. They welcome her with loud praise, and screams. Their flag raised only moments later.

Exhausted is how he would proclaim himself at their displays, and yet he holds his position firm only casting a subtle look to his wife to take note of her virdian eyes showcasing her smile more than her mouth could do alone.

* * *

The recognition following the wedding is there in complete form. The whispers are there floating endlessly around her. Many of these are praise for her features, and the resurface of tales of her natural gift for healing. The rest are of distaste for her _dirty_ blood.

They did not find her worthy of him being from an unknown clan. They found no comfort in the stories of her abilities weaving around her and instead rested their ebony windows upon her with distrust. They simply saw no purpose or reason behind Madara forcing their poor leader to marry someone so unknown and of so little _quality_. They would not dare to utter this whisper any louder.

Bitter—that is what she would call the feeling heavy on her chest.

Yes, she was of a clan that held no importance. There would be no full blooded Uchiha's produced from this union—it was what she assumed had stopped him from laying with her the night they had married. Yet even with the knowledge that they weren't wrong she desperately wanted to prove to them that she was worth far more than they could understand. Those tiny fingers of hers could bring healing, and just as easily destroy the ground before them.

Her viridian ocular window's show the unsure feeling resting in her stomach. How was she to proceed in the slur that has left the persons lips. Confrontation was not something she had expected when she had been making her way through the village. They had done it in the middle of the large crowd among the shopping district no less.

Viridian are now narrowing, and she can feel the words commanding respect coming up from her throat when she is caught off guard by her husband of all people. His shoulder has grazed her own taking the lead in dealing with the fellow Uchiha's verbal assault.

Her husband has grabbed them by the collar and yanked them effortlessly forward. This is where she finds herself lost and taking a step back. Those endless ebony are gone and in their place a deep rich red customary to his—no _their_ —people.

The fear that has overtaken the poor clansmen is painted clearly for all to see. The loud shopping district is ghostly quiet. The noise of the district has died and come to a still so all can stare on at the public demonstration of punishment and a precedence is set for any who wish to question his marriage.

Blood hit the ground, and a cry of terror is heard. No one attempts to save the man who has dared bring an insult to her.

Sakura had been prepared for many things in this marriage, but this—this was not something she could stand by and watch. The verbal slur he had called her along with his vocal disdain for her presence next to his leader was not in league with the punishment playing out before her. The mans body was thrown with little to no effort. Blood spilled from his wrist at the loss of his hand. The poor individual's eyes had turned to the deep rich red that her husband's eyes sported as he let out loud pants coated and laced with fear, and pain.

Her voice was loud and commanding as she found herself running to his aid, "Stop."

The tales of horror that weaved and wrapped themselves around her husband found their foundation once more. The idea that they were myths had been completely discarded. This man was as cruel as they said to even his own people.

Deep rich red orbs, and lips pressed in a firm line was what adorned his face as she stood before him. Her heart is loud and she is sure he can hear it. The terror of this man makes her question her own strength, and abilities. There is fear she cannot do anything to stop him truly if he wishes to continue.

His scowl deepens as he walks past her as if she is not present in front of him. The only thing she can do is follow him with her viridian before assisting the injured man. There was terror at first upon her attempt to help him, and it pains her that anyone would fear her to this extent.

The apology comes next as she heals him, and she can only give a smile cheap in quality knowing that this is not the apology brought by willed recognition. This is the apology brought about by fear. Sasuke has guaranteed that they will respect her out of fear.

It isn't until later when she is in the entry way that the tears fall from her face. She feels his eyes and she can do nothing but shield herself from his gaze with her arm. It does nothing to hide the clear drops that fall from her chin, and it's here that she is completely disgusted with herself.

There is the realization of how much fear she had truly felt watching his public demonstration.  
There is the realization that in some sick manner she felt the tiniest bit of pride that her husband had defended her.

Sakura could only do her best to bite her lip in an attempt to silence her desire to give an outward cry. That hint of pride twisted her in unthinkable ways. Even though her husband felt nothing toward her, and maybe even despised her, he had come to her aid.

The disdain she feels towards him had shifted. Hints of it now were felt for herself, and her weakness. The feel of him is gone and it's in the midst of this that she presses delicate fingers to her mouth to let out the strangled cry that had begged for release.


	2. The Uchiha

**Chapter 2**  
The Uchiha

* * *

The air is chilled in the early morning as it has been in the last weeks since their joining and yet nothing is questioned. His clan has welcomed her easily enough and only minor gossip seems to follow her trail after his public performance.

Madara had made it clear not to bed her. Madara seeks for him to have pure children. At first he doesn't not question it. His thoughts are among the same as his leader, but it's within that same notion that he then questions why he had made him wed the creature of spring at all. Why have him take her hand when he would be expected to provide heirs?

He quickly learns from his fellow higher ups days before the upcoming meeting that a Senju had held his eyes on her before she had taken his name.

His marriage was simply another round of politics.

It left a bitter distaste in his mouth, but his village, and his men meant more to him than some freedom of a spring nymph.

There is a stiffness in the air as they are welcomed into a home so far from their own. She trails behind him and he can feel the nervousness that seemingly pours from her being. He know she is not used to attending meetings such as these. There is no doubt though she will continue to adjust and get used to them within time. These would be something she attended alongside him as long as the war continued on.

Her timid fingers brush against his and it's in that brief touch that he shifts his gaze to her as they follow Madara and the maids that welcome them deeper into the house. Those that trail behind her are already accustomed to these meetings, and hold none of her nervousness. Her rose-colored locks are pinned upon her head, and the cheongsam is of a white fading to rich teal with large floral patterns blossoming upon it. The nymph looks elegant in her ways and traditions, but it only furthers to make her stand out among those present.

As they fill the room he cannot help but let his ebony fall upon the boy that stands to protect their host. They are of distant relation—the Hyuuga—and yet he feels no true family bond with this clan. The bond they share is that of allies, nonetheless. The pale of his eyes showcase his linage that could not be disputed. They had fought beside each other enough times that there is recognition within the shared gaze. Neji Hyuuga was strong—there was no disputing it. He was a prodigy in his own rights. The times in which they had, had missions together had always been fruitful, and without much mistake.

Taking his seat his otherworldly wife follows. He notes her eyes looking upon the Hyuuga members that sit at the table, but there is no surprise decorating her features. He notes a whisper from Neji to their host, Hiashi Hyuuga. Moments later the Hyuuga boy has made his way beside his wife. There is a series of hushed whispers between them easily caught by his ears. The interaction is one that gives way to momentary interest.

"It's been long Sakura-san." there was a fondness to his voice that Sasuke had not expected.

"It has Neji-san. I hope you've been in good health." he doesn't need to look at her to know there is a smile—genuine to the core—upon her face as she speaks this.

"I had heard of Sasuke-sama's marriage but did not expect it to be with you."

"Ah, it was a surprise for many, I promise." she speaks with a hint of humor.

The interaction is called to a halt at Hiashi's voice. He calls forth their attention to start their meeting now that all that attend have taken their designated spot at the table. Madara sits at one end, and Hiashi, and his wife at the other. The high ranking members of the Uchiha—Izuna, Obito, Kagami, and himself—sit along one side, whilst the high ranking of the Hyuuga—Ko, Tokuma, Iroha, and Neji—sit along the other. The spouses of the wed are seated properly beside their husbands, but will hold no part in the meeting.

The discussions are intense as they deliberate over possible peace talks with the Senju, and Uzumaki. Hiashi opens the floor to those of high rank to say their thoughts. Hyuuga, and Uchiha alike raise their concerns of what peace could occur with the losses sustained on both sides. There is surprise that the Hyuuga seem to be considering it far more than that of his clansmen, but Madara's word is all it will take to make them agree.

"The possibility of this putting you, and Madara-sama in danger is high." Obito's voice is tight upon the room making them all gaze upon him, "The Senju, and Uzumaki have taken many from our families over their proclaimed ideals of love. Who is to say this talk of peace is not to take you from us as well?"

Sasuke cannot fault his bitterness as he too is among those Obito speaks of. He finds no reason for peace talks. Where were the peace talks as he grew up in this war? Where were the peace talks before his mother and father were slaughtered? The Senju deserved what came their way with their weak sense of ideals, and the robbing of his brother loyalty. The animosity he felt could not be extinguished with such talks.

"We seek to lose even more as it progresses if there isn't an attempt at peace talks." Iroha responds in solemnity.

This only provokes more arguments among those present. Fists are slamming upon the table and voices are raising. He feels his wife startle at the heated debate throughout the table. There is a feeling of certainty that those viridian are shifting to each person's voice as their volumes increases. There is the certainty that if he gazed upon her, her lips would be parted just slightly.

"Sasuke-san, I have yet to hear your feelings." Madara's voice carries the interest it seems the others did not know they possessed and it's in this moment when all of those present quiet to look upon him he takes in a deep breath.

He cannot ignore the call of his leader, and it's here that he takes a fleeting moment to look upon the rose-colored nymph. He questions if she has stopped breathing in her stillness awaiting his answer.

"I leave those decisions to you." his voice is rougher than he intends, but it matters not.

No one but his spring wife is shocked by his response. The sharp inhale she makes is one only he hears. There is tension radiating from her being as if she is sickened by his response.

 _He cares not._

Arguments erupt through the room once more until Hiashi silences it with the raising of his hand. Madara finally speaks his piece in the matter, "We all will consider the peace talk. I can rest at ease that you will send word to Hashirama-san for further details? Until then nothing has changed. Agreed, Hiashi-san?"

"I will send word out." the leading Hyuuga is content with the agreement reached.

The meeting is dismissed only moments later allowing the intensity of the room to washed away at its dismissal. Madara has taken to conversing with Hiashi into another room. He is sure they are ironing out the details of the agreement made. The maids of the Hyuuga home are quick to serve them food. The hospitality that comes from their ally is expected, and one he is accustom too.

Civil discussion, and war stories are shared throughout the meal. It's quaint and it's peaceful. Sasuke notes the quiet that comes from his wife, but he is sure she is listening intently and digesting the conquests discussed.

It's not until later within the night when he is unable to sleep, and his wife is nestled within the guest room they've been allotted that he is brought company by the Hyuuga boy. They fall as easily into place off the battlefield as they do on it. The conversation is not one he minds, and they share hints of humor.

"I have not run across Naruto-san in a while. It makes me wonder where he has gone into hiding if he is not on the frontline."

There is a grunt that escaped his lips, "He barely escaped our last encounter."

His response only makes the Hyuuga's mouth tilt to a smirk, "It was an encounter with him that made me meet your wife shortly after."

Ebony doesn't bother to shift to the boy as he brings her into the conversation, "Ah."

"She's an excellent healer—kind to a fault. I was surprised to see her present next to your side." He does not bother with a reply as the Hyuuga continues forward, "She healed all regardless of affiliation. It was because of that Toka Senju's son had taken interest in her."

This is nothing he hadn't heard already. He cared little to gain specifics of the Senju all seemed to buzz about when his wife was brought forth. There is the smallest of questions of what transpired between them, and then just as the wind blows softly upon them it is gone from his mind. Trivial matters were of no interest to him.

The conversation has disappeared from them leaving only their footsteps to bring noise to their otherwise quiet walk. It's not long till they find themselves back among the main branches home and those that sleep protectively within it's walls.

Sasuke hopes to find the solace sleep very rarely provides for him. He finds himself taking in the sound of his still sleeping wife as a lull that makes his already heavy lids begin their fall. The breathing is soothing, and only continues to provide an odd sense of comfort that he finds he still needs to adjust to. How long that adjustment will be he doesn't know, but he doesn't question it either.

There is a certain level of distance between them. The distance is small but seemingly far. Then there is this odd sense of closeness that he feels she brings with her presence. It's as though she knows no boundary, and knows of no personal space. Their marriage has only occurred in such a short amount of time, but these moments where they lay beside each other have yet to become something he associates as familiar.

These are the moments when he feels her wrapping herself around him with those pale rose-colored strands. The world contains comfort he has no use for, and no desire to participate in, and yet when those pale strands seemly wrap around his being he finds no will to cut them down. The desire comes quickly though as the world loses it's otherwise bright scenery of spring, and those once soft and coaxing strands now constrict him, and strangle his throat in dark hues of deep rich reds. The dark was not something he feared. The terror of those he had seen come and go in his life are what haunt him. The movement of the enemy upon him as he is forced to allow them to tower over his being without any way to protect himself brings forth an earth shattering anguish is another fear that hides within his dreams.

Glowing viridian is all he can see as his eyelids force themselves open, and his heart quakes in his chest. At what point had they found themselves in this position, and at what point had she deemed it acceptable to wake and tower over him? A moment of silence stills between them. He is desperate to find something—anything—within those ocular glowing orbs of hers to establish if there was an attempt to harm him. Traces of disdain are there, but it's missed some of the luster it had held as they ate, and this only serves to make him uncomfortable. It's with a swallow, and finally a moment that wash away the shell shocked look that had decorated his features. He shifts away from her unable to bare the closeness she consistently seems to bring with her.

"What are you doing?" he spats with no remorse.

Ebony eyes follow the flex that comes to her mouth and her throat as she swallows. There is no fear in her, and she seems to have taken a page from his own book when she refuses to answer something she felt was not important.

 _Kind to a fault._

He is on his feet in only seconds. He makes no attempt at laying his eyes upon her form as he switches between clothes for rest, and clothes for the day. There is venom resting at the base of his throat that seeks to find its way to her. There is a sluggishness to his movements as he makes to exit the room. Exhausted doesn't begin to explain the feeling that weighs upon him as he seeks to distance himself from her. In passing those from his clan, and out the door he is graced with the brightness of the sun and the gentle warmth it gives to his scalp.

* * *

Fingers found themselves upon the spines of books that covered the shelves before her. There is this interest eroding her being to understand and learn more of this unusually cold and ruthless man. It begs to question though if what is hidden among this library is one she is willing to take upon with an open heart. The battle of myth versus reality is constant within her mind over her husband—a man haunted nightmares, and yet a nightmare to others.

Sakura can only take in a breath as she lets her fingers slide off the spine to find it's way back to her side. The briefest shakes of her head follow suit as if to banish the thoughts that plague her. Her steps maintain their solid foundation as she walks from the room, and out into the hallway.

Sasuke—she is sure—is gazing upon his garden, and just as she has thought he is there. The look decorating her is one that digests him, and sizes him as though he is the only one who can rid her of the questions of myth versus reality. This man would rather leave her in a constant state of obscurity. He would not remove these questions that plagued her. The bitterness that had found its way into her everyday life since her marriage sits upon her chest once more.

He knows she is there. He knows she is gazing upon him. He knows she has questions.

Yet, this man would never answer a single one of them. He would keep her questioning, keep her guessing, and keep her forever pondering. His eyes would never gaze upon her she is sure—and the frustration that this union would never give her anything is what she assumes birthed this bitterness.

In this realization she can only let out the deep breath that sat within her lungs through her nose as if it will release the bitterness building in her. Throughout these moments she felt the tug-o-war taking place. Making the best out of this union would be ideal. They did not have to love, and they did not have to care for one another—the days in which she daydreamed of marriage and love coexisting had long since been destroyed the minute she had sat before him.

At no point would she ever consider affection from him a possibility—her mind flashes through memories of the discipline he had released upon the man in the market.

Fingers curled upon the wall—she would not romanticize his display in the market as affection. As much as there had been pride at him defending her there was certainty that he did it simply to quiet any negativity that was produced from their union.

She wanted them to be able to cohabit peacefully.

There is the briefest of noises behind her, and it's here she realizes she is blocking the maid from giving him the tea he must have asked for. Dismissing her is easily done, and since her marriage there is less and less hesitation. The tray is set beside him, and yet even still he does not glance her way.

Taking a place beside him she wonders if this will help her to understand him, and who he is.

 _This man was no ordinary man._  
He seemed to play outside of her god's rules.  
He was beyond that of any man she had ever met.  
He held no care of who's world he shattered—he had made that clear at the meeting.

If she had not seen him bleed or injured she would have questioned if he was man at all—that is what makes her let out the smallest of noises. The flicker of his eyes to her are brief and it is missed with her longing gaze upon the sky before her not painted in the flames or chaos that others surely see.

* * *

There is a moment of solace held in their walk along the village's main path. She had fallen in line with him as she made her way back from outside the village to retrieve a restock of herbs. He had a sheen of sweat across his face as he looked back at her. She can only assume that training has gone well for him.

The walk holds no conversation, and the noise of the village is loud, but pleasant. It floods her with memories from back home in her small quaint village of no importance. The smile that decorates her is genuine, and brings with it a swelling of warmth in her chest.

The momentary swelling is halted when the tiniest of hands have found their way to her husband's obsidian hakama with a pull to garner his attention. The confusion and fear is decorating her at this child's actions, and yet no one pays mind to it not even him. Sasuke has halted his own steps to look upon the child—it's possible curiosity and nothing more she's sure when it seems there will be no punishment. This is where the tales and unanswered questions have led her. It's hard to picture this man giving even the smallest of affections to anyone let alone a child.

The small Uchiha child has finally landed their ebony onto her giving forth a giggle before gazing back up as if completely taken with her husband. Wrapping their tiniest of arms around his leg he nuzzles into Sasuke and it's a sight that catches her off guard, and unprepared.

Warmth swells into her chest as she watches him lift a hand to the child's head and give it an indescribably tender pat. No one around them seems phased by this as if it is common, and yet she feels as if this was the most otherworldly thing her ocular windows had ever taken in since her arrival.

The words of her handmaid are what fill her with this experience. These people looked upon this man with such pride, and such love for all that he seemingly gives while he takes from others in the pursuit of final victory.

Delicate fingers press upon her lips as her other hand grasps the basket tighter in the thought that maybe he is once again not the myth or the tale that weaved itself into her upbringing. Judgment was something she continued to press upon him—had she ever really given this man a chance?

Her throats tightens even more—she continued to put these unspoken expectations forth. He had never had a chance to begin with. She is once again the cruel one, and she is once again reevaluating the disdain the stories of him had created and placing it upon herself—his eyes are on her and she's only now realizing it.

Ebony and viridian hold each other, and it's in the smallest of seconds she wishes to rip her gaze away from him. She is left feeling such disgust for herself for being so closed minded, and so unforgiving for things he has not even done to her.

There is the smallest upraise of his brow and she realizes he is trying to understand what it is that decorates her face, and what has caused it—she can only mentally beg her gods to forgive her inability to be better and asks them for strength to do better.

That lackadaisical attempt that was so utterly him comes in the blink of an eye. There is realization that someone else has captured his attention—Hikaku was his name right?

The child is Hikaku's and with his appearance he brings forth news of departure. This is but a reminder of the war that sits just beyond these walls, and outside these homes. Viridian can only look upon the dirt path they walk on.

That's right. This man was not an ordinary man.  
He held no care of who's world he shattered—his had already been shattered when his mother and father had left the world of the living.

He had made that so undeniably clear when he had voiced his indifference at the meeting she had sat upon in the argument of peace, and even in this surprising moment of tenderness to a child that was something she needed to remember first and foremost.

Bitterness—it's what she feels when that reminder did not shift the disdain back to him but instead settles upon herself even more.

* * *

His next mission is given, and it is only hours later that he leaves her.

This time the disdain is only subtle as she nods her farewells along with her handmaid.

There is the hint of fear laced in her subtle disdain for him within the viridian windows of her being. While he did not know what made her fear him he found no qualms with its presence. Fear would keep their lines from crossing and the distance between them sound. It provided him with relief at seeing her hold such feelings towards him. There had been the briefest of confusion she had given him within the village. It had made him intrigued by her outward display. He could not understand what had decorated her features though. Something had made her displeased within the village. There was what he could only gauge as hatred, but it had not been towards him—he would not dwell on it now and he wouldn't dwell on it later.

His men are amused and chatting behind him as they make their way to the next battle. They are there to provide relief for others, and give them time to regroup before taking another village from the Senju. He has longed for battle since his last mission. Battle spoke to him in wonderful whispers. Battles gave him the ability to bring honor to his fallen mother and father.

Honor was the bare minimum he would bring them in their deaths.

They had deserved so much better, and so much more. They were not bad people. They were not cruel people. His mother was the ever constant warmth of his world. His father was stern and strict but held all the loyalty one could ever ask for.

The Senju deserved it when he slaughtered their men, and warrior children. They deserved it when he slammed his blade into their gut and ripped it out without remorse. They deserved the fire he brought with the inhale of air that filled his lungs. They deserved the brutality of his fingers laced with lightning piercing their armor and dragging their hearts from the cage that protected them.

The one he thought would surely come to the fight still had not, and it only meant that they never had stood a chance against the power that was the Uchiha clan. The Hyuuga was right in what he had said—Naruto was missing and it only meant that this battle would come with ease after a few rounds, and a few pushes.

Relief is what they provide to those who have fought hard and given all they can to their cause. They will give them time to breath, and time to take in healing from the medics that put their lives on the line. The men who had been sent out before him, and the warrior children of both sides litter the ground, and yet this is nothing new for him. He had been a child of war himself. Age meant nothing in this almost decade long fight.

There's an art through the air, and with it a reaction from himself. The current of electricity is loud and chirps with delight along his fingers before finding itself inside that of the enemy. His men are rushing forward to produce their own arts, and the air is filled with the stench of blood and death.

Retreat from the opposing side is all that keeps them from pushing forward hours in. The battle will resume shortly he is sure, and in that time they only need to regroup and stand firm with their newly acquired hold upon this village.

The battle to come though had not been what he had expected.  
Little had prepared him for the terrible victory that he would grasp in this battle.  
Little had he realized he would come face to face with the very one who had sought to obtain her.

Toka Senju's son was recognizable in moments. There was no way to dispute who stood before him. There was the glare cast upon him, and the sneer solely for him placed upon the Senju's lips. There was a clash and the attempt to render this man under his genjutsu. This man fought with all the rage that he worked to maintain and keep from exploding. This man fought as though he had been robbed of something with unbelievable value. There was understanding in that. He too had been robbed of something with unbelievable value.

There is a moment in which he misjudges an attack, and he feels his arm snap, there is a moment where he has gritted his teeth in keeping the pain from eating him alive, and then there is his blade piercing the Senju's shoulder.

Blood is splattered, and howls of hysteria are what echo through the days that transpire.  
He questions the sanity of the man who comes for him at every opportunity.  
The Senju does not allow his men to aid him in trying to end his life.  
The Senju is an absolute fool—a child throwing a tantrum.

He seeks nothing more than to ram his blade into the beating heart of the one who continues to come for him in personal hatred. He would teach this man— _no this child_ —what happened when you brought personal feelings into the land of chaos and war.

 _He was a god of war._  
An otherworldly being of destruction.

He, Sasuke Uchiha, was truly cruel.

* * *

Hurt, battered, and slightly broken he does not allow them to take him to the clinic. He demands his bed, and his comrades equally bloody, and battered comply with his selfish desires. She is there in the doorway. Her face decorated in wide doe-eyes and glowing viridian shock as she takes in the sight of her husband. The swallow that follows is pained. She is upon them immediately shouting orders, and demanding her handmaid gather more servants to assist in retrieving supplies.

She takes care of him first, mending his flesh, cleaning out the dirt, and grime that has settled into his wounds. Hisses falls from her lips as she forces out the growing infection, and sticks her fingers into his worse wounds in an attempt to get inside of him deeper. Endless ebony falter back and forth to the deep rich red of his sharingan has he watches her work on him between moments of blurred vision. He has bit into his tongue at the sharp pain of her mending and healing.

He questions if she is killing him, and he questions why he is allowing her to do so.

His vision settles into a seemingly permanent blurred state and begins to descend into black as he is sure she has just broken his arm unsatisfied with her original adjustment all within the aim of aligning it correctly. The pain to much to bare. He mentally begs for it all to end, and continues to curse her for killing him.

This woman.  
 _This nymph of spring would be his end._

He was sure of this.

It's almost as if only moments have passed since he has faded from the world of the living and yet he awakes with confusion decorating his features sluggishly. He finds the familiar ceiling above his head and groggily turns to find his comrades beside him in similar states of recovery.

The birds outside his garden just beyond his bedroom door are loud and are singing forth what he can only assume is a new day. He feels a hand lay upon his shoulder. Izuna's features flood his no longer blurred vision. He sees the words forming on his mouth. He knows there is sound coming forth and yet the birds are so loud he cannot hear them.

It digests that the Uchiha has requested he not move in his state, and then he feels the steps taken shortly after on the vibrate upon tatami below him. Time seems to stand still only for his vision to become obscured by rose-colored strands as her face comes into view. He takes note of her exhaustion, of the specks of blood he questions if she does not know paint her milky complexion, her rose-colored strands bare the same only in larger doses in their shattered state around her, and then there are her hands coming to lay upon him. Her nails hold dry blood under them as her hands glows and the warmth that he has come to recognize as completely her envelopes him to ease the throbbing pain he had yet to notice until this moment.

He feels himself slip within the warmth as if being submerged into an endless river. It's cool, and satisfying, and likely to drown him. It has dulled the harsh throbbing pain he had only come to notice before her fingers flowed upon him.

It's not until he awakens again that he starts to question the span of time. His the throbbing pain is still there as a mocking reminder of how far he has gone in his battle against the Senju, but it has eased considerably. He wonders if it was her who had caused this ease.

She is there as he struggles to sit up, and urgency to clear his lungs. He stops himself from doing so bringing fingers to not wrapped and bound to his chest. This woman is pressed against the door that leads to the garden he took joy in. The soft sounds of her deep within sleep flow from her chest filling the air as he watches it rise and fall. Her kimono is torn, and caked in blood. The article of clothing is in complete ruin, and it appears she has not attended to herself. He assumes he hasn't been out for long.

He would find out later he was so very wrong.  
He would find out later she hadn't slept days into his return.  
He would find out later that he would grow irritated with these actions.

He would find out later that this woman who felt so much disdain for him would go to great lengths keeping him alive.

 _Even for someone she surely felt should die_.

* * *

The man who had come to visit her before her much celebrated marriage had entered her home in hearing of her husband and comrade's fatal status. The sight of Sasuke bleeding out, and possibly damaged beyond repair haunted her when she closed her eyes.

The fear she had held at seeing him like that had shaken her foundation of him once again. This terrible beyond words, and cruel man was just that a man. It had taken him in such a half dead state to remind her of this, and the regret she held for never realizing it shifted more disdain onto herself. Disdain would be her downfall. Sorrow would fill her heart in knowing that he had never been the cruel one between them. It had all been her. All of that cruelty was hers to bare.

The blood that had long since dried days ago under her fingernails brings back the vivid memory of how far she had gone to make sure he did not leave the world of the living.

Izuna had been there to help command the maids, and bring forth more medics to assist in the treatment of her husband and his team. The gratitude she expresses is overflowing as she gets on her hands and knees uttering it over and over again after the worst of it all has past.

The sight of her is pathetic, and pitiful but she cannot—will not—back down from expressing such deep heavyhearted gratitude.

He waves her off in that strangely formal way of his. Stoic in nature and yet she feels unbelievable warmth when he tells her to now take care of herself. Viridian finally remove themselves from the tatami mats beneath her and find their way to his. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally make their way down her face.

Had he known her true feelings toward her husband she is sure he would not be so kind, and yet she feels completely bare to him when their eyes connect. It pushes her to want to feel more towards her husband, and not be the shameful excuse of a wife she knows she is at the heart of this marriage.

It is in this moment that she becomes determined to give more to her husband. This moment here is where she makes a promise to be a proper wife to him. She would support him properly. She would care for him properly. The complex feelings she holds towards her husband will be rebuilt. The difference in ideals now felt so very petty and insignificant. The difference in their hearts would no longer stand between them. This perception of him would be shattered glued back together with an open mind and open heart.

"You need rest, Sakura-san."

The warmth still exists in his voice as if he has heard her silent promise to give more, and be more. It is here though that she shakes her head not caring how much farther it will lower her in his gaze. Her husband's team still needed her now. Her husband still needed her in these moments. She would stay by his side regardless of the strain it would put on her body and mind.

"I will stay by his side."

It is no longer that a simple moment of time between them before he gives a nod and finds his way out from their home. Sakura sees him out giving one more heavyhearted thank you. He has not tried to stop her from pushing herself beyond her limits, and she finds it makes her heart swell that he has allowed her this privilege to not follow his intended orders.

* * *

Whispers filled his home of tales of his wife's healing abilities showing their true power when needed most. It's not until weeks later after they had died down that as he sits with Izuna, and Hikaku over discussions concerning the war, and what he has missed while in recovery that he finally can hear those long dead whispers in a clear voice.

"Your wife could not bare to leave your side as you recovered. She did not sleep or leave your side in days." Izuna's warm voice comes to his ears.

He takes the time to gaze upon the fellow Uchiha with such an uncharacteristic warmth coating his statement. He does not follow through with a comment as Izuna continues forward, "She had forgotten herself completely in your state."

It's here that Hikaku speaks, "I would like to properly thank your wife for my recovery, Sasuke-sama".

Ebony met upon ebony at such a request, and a simple nod was all he could give. It made no difference to him if his comrade thanked his wife for her medical treatment. She was no concern of his.

Agitation is all he could feel in hearing Izuna's claims. Why this woman had fought so hard to keep him alive is beyond him.

That thought would not change even as as he caught her that evening watching the end of day sun grace his home with it's painted hues as it brought with it the peace that came with night. She was seated so calmly as she looked out upon his, no their, garden.

"Sakura."

He questioned if this was the first time he had said her name. He did not find the taste of her name familiar to his tongue. It was so very foreign, and so very light.

Endless ebony met those trademark viridian. He found his steps strong as he came to her side. He did not sit with her choosing to stand beside her. Running his free unbound hand through his long ebony locks he takes in the sight that her eyes adore before her.

"Your. . .friend?" she seemed unsure if she had established who she was referring to correctly, "Thanked me earlier for treating him."

He did not look to her, "Ah."

"Are you in any pain?"

He refused to answer such a thing. She was far beyond what Madara had said. She had transcended what he had assumed of her skill. She was far more than he had realized.

He would be out of his sling soon because of this.

"Did you kill him?" her fingers found their way into her hair fluffing it as if she was discussing the weather.

"No." the answer sent resentment through him.

Sasuke had failed to deliver the final blow to the Senju that had taken fancy to her. When they had met on the battlefield it had been nothing personal. There was recognition and disdain on the Senju's part, but he, he had not made this personal. She did not influence his battles— _no she influenced Toka's son's battles._

"I see." she murmured softly as her fingers found the cloth of his pants around his ankle, " _Please_. . ." her voice was too soft, and too low. He was sure he would have missed it if he had not looked down to her when she had grabbed him, "Be more careful."

" _You're annoying._ "

* * *

To understand her husband had filled her with renewed purpose, and it is in those moments when he leaves her to her own devices that she longs for tales of her new family, and of her husband through the hearts and eyes of those closest to him. She seeks to stare upon her husband as that child in the market had.

Taking every chance, and every opportunity she could to learn all that there was to be known about Sasuke Uchiha filled her life with pride. There was a longing to know and understand him better than anyone, and she knew in having that she would also become the proper wife this man needed.

The handmaid has tales of his youth. The child like innocence her husband once held makes her heart want to burst. There was a Sasuke Uchiha she would never meet, and yet just hearing of him in such a time makes her heart swell. These stories carry words of a sibling that she has never heard of before and unspoken questions formulate within her. There is desire to ask of where this sibling is. She doesn't though when she notes the almost pained smile upon the maids lips.

Izuna's visit to see her husband allows her the opportunity to learn of the Sasuke Uchiha on the battlefield. The tales of his raw power and his effortless control of fire, and lightning make her eyes light up with curiosity and make her want to witness such things in person. It makes her long to see what they have seen.

The archives she tracks down in the library give her the chance to read during meetings that do not call for her. It gives her a much better understand of who his people— _no, no they are her people as well_ —are and what it is they fight for. The ideology clash she finds is complex and she realizes that while she disagrees with their ways and thoughts she will protect their hopes beside him.

Knowledge of him, and their clan is not all that she throws herself into.

Sakura Uchiha _will do more_.

The maids at first are unsure of how to handle her in the kitchen, and her constant requests to teach her their dishes. His absences help her to better herself so that she can serve him food that will make him seek to return home.

Sakura finds herself lessening her disdain for herself as she pushes herself. If her husband can bring protection then she can provide a home for him to return to with love, and warmth. He brings their people victory and success with the cruelest of methods and she will provide them with gentle affection and recovery when they return.

In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come.

The wives of his closest of comrades, and those high ranking under him come with even more opportunity to learn she finds. They first find her amusing with expectations that she is halfhearted, and it is only after constant attempts from the spring wife that they learn her determination is not fleeting. The respect she gains from them brings her respect among others in their village. Gratitude is expressed from them after every check up she provides on their husbands. They have grown to trust her in a way she did not think she would be able to obtain when this marriage of hers had started.

Hikaku's wife has become the one she bonds with the most. This woman is what she can only hope to become. The love in her voice, and the unbelievable rawness that flows from her as she speaks of her husband is one Sakura longs to possess when speaking of Sasuke.

The spring wife finds herself unable to stop what comes from her mouth as they sip tea in Hikaku's home, "I find myself envious of your strength and devotion to your husband."

The soft features that paint over the ebony haired woman makes Sakura's heart flutter as she tells of something she had not expected.

" _The Uchiha love far deeper than anyone else._ "

* * *

 **Author Note**

Starting out. Holy shit you guys. Like I did not expect so many people to follow this. I honestly figured it would get zero traction. So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up the next day to all these notifications in my e-mail. Thank you so much for reading my work. I honestly originally never planned to never post this. I figured it would just sit in my docs till the end of time. I definitely can't thank you all enough.

That being said I originally was gonna post this in two weeks but after finding out it's Sasuke Week on tumblr, and finding out I'll have company the same week I was planning to post chapter two I decided to just post it now. Chapter three won't be posted for a while though so just expect that.

I'll be sure to address any guest reviews that I feel need responded too after each chapter as well. Two reviews I felt needed addressed was someone asking for me to not make Sasuke a dick to Sakura, and one about no cheating, and death.

Concerning Sasuke being a dick to Sakura. I am a firm believer of character development. I suffer from absolute second-hand embarrassment when an author makes Sasuke do what I like to call "seeing the light", and out of no where just like realizes he's madly in love with her with the littlest of efforts within a short time span. I get time span is hard. I suffer from that struggle, but it doesn't make it any less awkward when it feels like he met her on day one and by day three he sees the light and should of had a V8. Now with all that being said I don't think Sasuke really is a dick at any point to her. Maybe I did make him a dick, maybe I didn't. I guess that's all how you take my work. Hopefully you stick around to see how it turns out.

As for the other one about cheating and death. This is set during a War between the Senju and the Uchiha. Characters will die. I will tell you though that if your fear is I'll kill off Sasuke, or Sakura rest assured I have no intention of that. There will be a lot of characters that do die though. In war, no one, is honestly safe. I've planned out a lot of deaths. If that's something that makes you uncomfortable that's cool and I'm sorry my work isn't for you. As for cheating, I won't say yes or no. I've already written that portion out in future chapters.


	3. The Kindness

**Chapter 3**  
The Kindness

* * *

The late summer heat was thick among them when her voice takes him off guard as she speaks across from him nibbling her food. Dinner was a quiet activity that she previously chose not to interrupt, "I hear the Uchiha love deeply."

She says it in such a way that he does not know if she is truly expecting an answer to the underlying question. He realizes he should say something in return but he does not. He questions what reason he should give a response to such a random statement. Yes. He was proclaiming it a statement now—he would ignore the underlying question.

Sasuke was many things, and stubborn was one of them—he would not dare humor her with a response that he did not feel was worth his time. He would only lend his voice to what he felt was important, and _she_ was not important.

The sound of her chopsticks settling on her bowl comes to his ears making him glance ever so slightly at her. He realizes she was looking his way as if still thinking he would formulate a sentence for her ears alone.

"Do you love deeply?" her patience had seemed to end as the underlying question comes into play.

The clash of viridian to ebony begins, and yet stubbornly he did not, again, humor her—he left her hanging on silence as he gave his thanks for the food and left her with her brows pinched in frustration at his disregard for her curiosity. His spring incarnation of a wife had been changing before him and yet it was only in these moments that he found himself truly seeing a difference in her actions. The fear, and disdain is faint but still present in those glowing viridian in moments like this.

Disdain and fear were changing and in their change the briefest of interest was present to see what they would evolve into. Sasuke could only give an agitated grunt as he looked down the hall at where he had left her with that interest probing his thoughts.

Did she not comprehend this was not a union of love? Compassion? Was she hoping with such comments to get one from him? To get a promise of love and affection?

Shaking his head he cleared himself from the irritation that threatened to come. The fear was there still and so he found himself questioning what he thought she had wanted for him. Fingers found their way to his long locks of ebony running through the strands.

This woman was a mystery and otherworldly being who seemed to be forever changing before him.

She was an absolute paradox.

None of it matter. Whatever she sought to obtain she would never gain.

 _She would receive nothing_.

He would hold the Senju believer at arms length. It was these behaviors and these questions that only served to confuse and annoy him beyond what he thought possible.

He will keep her where she sits in his world as the wife he had never wanted nor asked for. He is heading for the door now. Sasuke can only hope for peace among the training grounds. Training would relieve him from her probing, and antics. It would provide a space before having to see the glowing viridian that held determination, and sought him out as they had in the recent of days.

* * *

Word had been sent days in advance of her mother longing to see her. There was equal longing in her to see her mother after such time away. Fingers dance across the fabric of a cheongsam deep in rich red hue, and light gold patterns that the maid has rushed to her hands. The fabric is soft and silky under her fingertips and she feels an absolute pride behind this single dress. There is a feeling of completeness within this dress. It is the merge of her culture and her new family as the emblem of the Uchiha has been stitched with care onto the back.

The handmaid is gentle and assists her with dressing. They take care in her hair as the wave of excitement is pouring out of her being in anticipation. It seems they have begun to expect no surprise in her in moments like this. Smiles are gentle between the two gazing back and forth in the mirror in front of her.

It is only after she has finished with her ritual of gracing her deceased in-laws with proper prayers, and traditions she has finally learned that she is greeting her mother at the entry way.

There is silence between them as she brings her mother to gaze upon their garden from the engawa. The maids have assisted in placing zabuton for them before her mother's arrival and follow closely behind them with tea to serve.

She raises her hand delicately taking the kettle and cups from her handmaid, "Please give us alone time. I wish to speak to my mother privately."

The maid does not question her giving a bow before leaving her mistress to serve, and entertain. The soft sigh her mother gives brings her back to serving tea.

There is an odd silence that hangs in the air. Her mother was a kind soul, but strict all the same. This was not the life she would have chosen for her, and Sakura knows this without the words ever hitting her ears.

A click of a tongue and moments later her mother's voice is as strong as she remembers, "That cruel man has treated you properly I hope?"

Sakura can only nod her head at her question as her lips work to cool the hot liquid she has poured into her own cup. The viridian gaze she shares due to the kindness of her mother has fallen on her at her nod, and she knows she is preparing herself.

"You should have fought this." her mother's words are hardened.

"I would have been slaughter. You know the tales that come from Uchiha-sama."

"Would you be discussing that _husband_ of yours or Madara-sama?"

The hiss and clip that fell from her mother's lips finally make her gaze back with her own viridian gaze. Her brows have come together to show her distaste for the way her mother is speaking, "What would you have had me do? Have our entire family slaughtered for selfishness?"

"I expected my stubborn daughter to fight as she has always done."

"You expected wrong." her voice shakes at that moment and pushes her mother to continue her fit of frustration that is displayed only for her.

"I can only pray to the gods they have not brainwashed you. You believed in the Senju, and you will die with the inability to follow with that belief."

"I am an _Uchiha_ now, mama. You are by association an _Uchiha_."

"I will _never_ be an Uchiha. You will never truly be an Uchiha. What have they done to bring you to this belief that just because you married a hate driven man who fights for a man thirsting for power you are to follow them blindly? Have I not always taught you to think for yourself, Sakura?"

Venomous is the only way she could describe her mother's tone, and it only cause her milky complexion to turn red in hue at the lecture she is receiving. It makes her place her cup to the side as she steps into the garden feet bare to feel warmth of the earth.

"I have never changed my views even as I work hard to be a proper wife to him. Do not lower me so far, Mama!" her tone has raised and she cannot contain the frustration that has risen in her, "He is not a bad man. He is unbelievably kind, so, so, so unbelievably kind!"

"What have you become to spout such nonsense? He is a creature who feels nothing for those he has slaughtered in the name of war!"

Her head whips to those words, the urge to defend her husband strong in her heart, "You cannot— _will not_ say that. You do not know him. You know nothing of him, and the Uchiha. You haven't even tried, Mama! The kindness I speak of, and see is there. His efforts for his people make them adore him, and have such deep faith in him to bring about the world they think is right! The children in this village long to become useful to him, and seek his appro—"

"May god stop any child from following that man's steps."

It is at that moment Sakura cannot believe the words that fall from her mother's mouth with absolute steel and hatred lacing each letter "To speak poorly of him is to speak poorly of _me_ , mama." her eyes have glassed over and the words that come are coated in a thick layer of hurt.

This has stopped her mother from spilling more words, and catch them in her throat. There is a moment where her mother's gaze drops from her to the cup her daughter has abandoned, "We _miss_ you, Sakura."

Fists curl at hearing the vulnerable words escape from her mother. This woman had been her rock growing up. This unbelievable woman before her was her role model. Hearing the vulnerable voice she utters vice grips Sakura's heart tightly. This woman was her pillar of strength, the essence of kindness when it was needed most, and the voice of reason in fits of emotion. Yet, here was that same role model spitting venom, speaking with hurt, and flush with regret at not finding a way out for her daughter. It only brought about heartache and desire to become half the woman sitting before her.

The steps she takes are shaky as she comes to kneel before her mother. Fingers dance across her mother's lap gripping the fabric of the signature white cheongsam her mother wore for outings she deemed important, "Mama, _I promise you_ , he has not been cruel to me."

Those are the words that produce a reassuring squeeze as her mother's hand takes her own.

The rest of their visit is held with light pleasantries, and giggles fill the air between them. A sense of calm so unlike their argument has come around them. She is giving her mother farewells just as her husband returns home for the day. Sakura can only watch as her mother and her husband share a fleeting look between them that holds a mixture of indifference on his end, and disgust on her mother's.

* * *

He found himself confused days later when she was not there to greet him—she was nowhere within his, no _their_ , home. He calls forth a maid who comes rushing to his side.

"Where is she?" his voice held a gruff lining

"I'm not sure, Uchiha-sama." the maid played with her hands hoping to avoid his stare and wrath at not knowing where his wife had gone off too.

He merely cast her a glance as he makes his way through the house taking a moment to stop within _their_ kitchen. The maid had followed him quickly, "You're dismissed." he spoke languidly.

The ebony haired male found himself perplexed. She had bewitched him he was certain. At some point he had never expected her to not be ready to greet him as he came home from meetings, battles, and training sessions.

His meeting had not been long. He was sure she knew when he would be back just as she had known he was leaving—what was he falling into? What difference did it make if his wife had been home. At what point had he grown accustomed to her being in the walls of _his_ home?

It wasn't but an hour later that she would return. He could hear the door and the greeting of one of the maids as she made her way into _his_ home. He did not move from his spot having made his way to the garden standing among the flowers that held their bloom as his cherry tree did not.

Nightfall had taken place in his wait and the chilled air graced with the subtle fall season making it's way into their land was settling in over his skin. Her feet had made the smallest of noises as she made her way to him. He dared not— _refused_ —to look at her. Frustration with her swirling in the pit of his stomach. He could smell the medicinal odor that hung thickly on her even within this distance.

 _So she had gone to help at the clinic today._

"Uchiha-sama."

His focus came back upon the lone cherry tree. He can hear her lips pressed in a line, and then when he thinks she has left and he has missed the soft thud of her feet against the wood he hears her again.

"Welcome home."

There is the slightest warmth with her call, and it makes him look to her finally as if pulling him in to wrap him into the world of spring she seemed forever a part of.

His ebony trailed up her form. A deep rich green cheongsam her choice for the day. He did not understand her desire to hold onto parts of her family's culture when she had many to learn from his own. They found their way past the rose-colored strands up to those ever glowing viridian.

Regret—he regretted looking to them.

He cast his own away from her with brows pinched in outward annoyance.

Where was the disdain?

At what point had she stopped giving them to him?

At what point did she begin to give such warmth when welcoming him?

He felt the desire to berate her—scold her—give her real reason to show such disdain toward him as she should. It was in these moments he could not comprehend what she was doing and why. It was in these moments he felt the need to grab her and ask her why she had allowed her life to come down this path.

They spoke so formally, they gazed as if strangers, and he was sure she did not truly support him, and his clansmen in this war—she was probably always a Senju supporter as with that mother of her's—All this marriage was, was a sham of unfulfilled, and never given promises. It was a lie.

Could you truly call this. . . this union a _marriage_?

"Sakura."

His voice had not been expected. He could hear it in the subtle shift she made at his voice. Fingers twitched slightly as he tried to swallow down this sudden growing irritation towards the nymph of spring.

"Yes?"

There was that subtle warmth that was completely her. It forced him to push the irritation further down his being, "You're to call me by my first name."

The pause between them was long, and loud. He had no idea why he had spilled the words from his mouth. It held no importance, and it held no rhyme or reason for being spoken. It did not truly matter what she called him. He had wanted to yell at her, scream at her, force her to explain what she had planned for this godforsaken life together.

"Sasuke-kun."

He wondered if it tasted bitter in her mouth as he felt the need to control the shock that wished to decorate his features. He was not one to give anyone the upper hand—including his wife—when it came to his emotional spectrum. Those days had long since passed with his brothers betrayal.

"Mm. . ." she hummed as if pleased with herself, " _Sasuke-kun._ "

He dared not respond at her second vocalization of his name. His feet carry him passed her and into the bedroom. His fingers began shutting the bedroom door behind him and leaving her behind as he was prone to do so, but he felt his mouth form words he was sure were becoming a reflex with her.

"You really are _annoying._ "

* * *

There is the oddest satisfaction she feels when he grants her permission to use his first name, and the thrill it has provided lasts for weeks after it has occurred.

He is still absent in his day to day comings and goings and yet she hopes the closeness he has provided in that moment will remain even with the increased pace of missions that carries him from home.

Sasuke Uchiha still did not write in his time away from her, and their home. There was never a moment she realizes that she would have thought he would. It is only through the word of others such as Hikaku's wife that she has received word on when they will return that makes it so she can welcome him home properly each time.

As her fingers work their magic and she assists at the clinic today she can only smile at the children and the kindhearted civilians that come and go. The reputation she has built and the trust she has gained only continues to grow and it gives her a sense of pride that this is something she has built and fixed since her husband's public display of punishment to those who would dare to not treat her properly.

It was finally entirely her own. The closeness she feels in these moments warm her and continue to push her to do her best. Giving was something that came naturally to her, and it was something she wished to provide forever.

Sakura can only glance briefly at her fingers as she begins a routine check up on the shinobi in front of her. His voice is kind as he chats with her asking how she has been. Through him she learns that he will be leaving for a new mission within the days to come.

These small fingers are what the shinobi in her village have come to rely on. They could bring the floor out from under him, and yet that was not her purpose in this war. War was cruel, and war was chaos. There was enough cruelty and chaos on both sides and she would not lend her hands to create more of the same. She was given the opportunity to provide something far less in supply.

The hours at the clinic are long and she stretches as she prepares to leave giving her farewells to the lingering medics who are there for the night shift.

The air at night is chilly and the wind brings forth a sense of calm over her. The village has quieted for the night but is not dead, and the nods, and bows that are given as she walks brings forth a glowing smile. This was when she truly felt her most successful. It made her wonder of how success felt to her husband.

The moon that shines her path with help from the ever present lanterns makes her stop in her walk home taking in the sight of the sky above her. Thoughts of him had begun to create a sense of longing.

So long as she lived under the same sky as him she silently, but strongly would continue to wait for him.

She does so gladly.

* * *

Missions had come and gone in the last few weeks. Unsure of how to take the sudden slow pace that had come to his days he could only become restless. He had barely been home and when he had it was only to be mended, rested, and then back out to his next mission.

She did not give complaints for his absences but then when was he really here with her? He had decided long ago that even when in the same room the two of them couldn't be further from each other. He felt re-grounded in his separation from her. He no longer felt irritated, and found himself frustrated by the woman. Soft feet stopped beside him a tray coming down with her. The smell of tea finds its way into his nose as she prepares him a cup. He followed her fingers as they danced among the kettles handle.

"Your hair has gotten long Sasuke-kun." you could hear the smile within her idle chatter.

He graced her with no response as usual as he watched her bring his cup to her lips giving soft blows to cool the liquid for him. Her delicate fingers cradled the cup in such a soft manner. The action is entirely her.

She wasn't wrong. His hair gotten longer than he had intended. It no longer could maintain it's usual curled back, and bangs had finally come past his chin. It lingered upon his shoulders, and held a similarity close to that of his traitor of a sibling. Thought of such things make him finally give way to a soft exhale.

Those doe-eyes of hers widened for a moment at the sudden expression as she hands him his cup. She found her way to her feet as she left him briefly to sip. He noted the sounds coming from their bedroom before the soft thuds made their way back to him. He could hear her as she pressed the kimono evenly under her legs behind him. Her fingers pressed upon his shoulder and he fights the urge to rip her fingers from him.

The stiffness in his shoulders alerted her and yet did not hold her back from creating this closeness. He found her hand making it's way from his shoulder through his hair. It sent an odd sensation through his body and the hair on his arms stand at such a feeling.

He spoke no words as she followed in his silence. There was understanding of what she intended to do, and he decided there was no reason to stop her from cutting the dark strands. He kept his focus out among the withering garden as her delicate fingers danced across his scalp. The sound of the razor dragging through his hair dances within his ears. He questioned just briefly if she even knew was she was doing.

Sasuke dismissed the question only to have another take it's place. She had fallen into rhythm with him almost as if it was second nature. He wants to know at what point she had managed to do that.

 _At that moment maybe they weren't so far apart._

* * *

A meeting only weeks later has her pulling her hood forward as she follows him out the door. Their journey is not far and yet the weather has made them take shelter from it's chill earlier than expected. She is expected as simply a sight, and no other part.

The trip is not one of words with only slight breaths. Those that follow behind them march quietly. None making move to make conversation among themselves in front of her presence.

He muses at the solitude she commands unknowingly.

The smirk that had graced his features seems to elicit a response from her as she pauses only in the slightest before regaining her pace. The viridian eyes leave his form shortly, and he finds himself wanting to smirk again as he's sure she is questioning if she had even seen the first one.

He does not though. They are heading into a meeting with Madara and that poses the seriousness of what is truly going on around them all.

The cold no longer feels fresh upon their faces as hours fall into place, greetings are held, and they sit among Madara's table. Loss and, specific achievements the topics. He establishes the latest of updates among those he has invited, and those his higher ups have placed their trust in.

His focus does not leave the war, or those they have lost. He finds the hair on the back of his neck stand at the mention of his brother being involved in one of the battles they had lost. His fists curl under the low table on his knees in frustration, and yet a soft hand finds it's way onto his. She seems to feel the vexation and trouble radiating off him without even glancing a look.

He wants to throw her hand off his but that would cause a scene within this public place. That is what forces him to let her leave it there, and dig her fingers into the closed fist enveloping what she can with such petite hands.

As the meeting ends they are standing conversing of more trivial topics before preparing for travel home. They know it will be long before the next meeting of this magnitude. The faces sitting in this room are here now, and yet they may not be there for the next.

 _That was the reality of war_.

"He is unbelievably kind."

Sasuke's head whips to her form hearing her voice. Ebony eyes note the individual she is conversing with lowly. He feels the need to separate them, and make her apologize. Tajima was not one you simply conversed with. Direct bloodline of his or not, she should not speak so casually.

Taking solid steps towards them they turn their attention to him.

"Ah, Sasuke-san, your wife is quite charming." his voice was even as his eyes flickered onto the young Uchiha.

"Ah, she is, Tajima-sama."

"She claims you're kind. It seems she knows of a you we do not." he seemed almost amused at this comment. His eyes grace upon his wife before flickering back to him.

"I'm honored by her praise." he wants the conversation to end.

He's desperate to get her away from the man, and reprimand her for her ridiculous comments.

 _What part of him had been kind to her_?

It's not hard to remove themselves with the excuse of travel making sure to apologize for the shortness, and disruption of his wife. Tajima had waved him off. It made his teeth grind in irritation. The quiet that comes forth on the travels back are no longer brought by her presence but instead the tense feeling that radiates from his being.

They speak no words until he slides their bedroom door shut. She is taking her cloak off and before she even has time to start to fold it his voice finds its way out of his throat, "Never speak to him again."

The otherworldly creature that is his wife has given her full attention at the sudden sound of his voice. There's a look of shock decorating her features as she gazes at him. Her viridian wide with unease at his tone with her.

" _Know your place_." he is seething with vexation at her in this one statement.

She has taken a step back at the venom that has dripped from his mouth, "Ah—Sasuke-kun"

Her attempts to calm him are thrown carelessly from her as he is now marching towards her gripping her wrist in his, "Tajima-sama is Madara-sama's father. You are in no position to speak to either."

He can see her milky complexion warming into a red tint. He has angered her it seems.

Oh?

So the spring nymph can feel anger?

He cared little for the development. He can hear her swallow thickly as if trying to swallow down the words begging to drop from her own. Pushing her wrist back to her makes her take several steps back as he turns from her and out the room. Cooling his head was necessary or he'd lose himself in his vexation.

Sasuke does not come back for hours. She does not greet him upon his return with the hour so late, and the light to his bedroom is off. He finds himself sleeping with his back to her. Her breath not the least bit even as he had expected them to be. The shuffle of the comforter above them comes with her movements. She is looking at him, and he can feel it. He feels a part of her reach out into the short distance between them as if to touch his back. He does not move.

There is a pause in her movement and a retraction of her hand.

Where is this _kindness_ she had proclaimed he held to Tajima?

* * *

The anger she feels towards him clings to her. That behavior of his. That tone he had carried with her. Never had he spoken to her in such a way. The frustration, vexation, and venom she felt sitting in her stomach had no release.

Sakura felt no guilt in what she had done.

What was it exactly her husband had expected from her? When spoken to she spoke. When asked for things she provided, and yet he had told her to _know her place_.

The spring wife fully knew her place. The agitation this had stirred in her had pulled her from her routine. There would be no apology when he returned. He would receive the same treatment he had received when he had walked out from their home for his latest mission.

In these times she was truly alone. She had nowhere to turn, and nowhere to run. To give way that they had held a fight was not something she could speak of even to Hikaku's wife.

Replaying the meeting and conversations that had taken place circulated her memory often. It was as if she was stuck in a forever loop of that time analyzing and searching for what more she could have done.

No matter what she had come to the same conclusions. It's only in front of her deceased in-laws that she clears her mind to give proper prayer, and light the incense in her husband's absence, and then all at once she is fluttering her eyes open.

Sakura calls for her handmaid as she exits and the maid comes quickly to come to her side. The pace is set and they are walking down the halls and into her bedroom. Turning to the maid has caused her to take a step back not prepared for her mistress to turn to her so abruptly.

"Who is Itachi Uchiha?" she is filled with determination.

Her husband's vexation plays center stage for her as she recalls taking his hand in hers to quell what it was that had caused such a private display of emotion he so very little showed.

The maid's face is painted in surprised not prepared for the request of information. There is hesitance and yet she knows she will tell what she has been asked. Fingers slide the door closed as if those working could not hear the contents of what she would dare say within this bedroom.

The tale is long, and it is now that the sibling she recalled mention of is finally given a name. The sibling is adored and a prodigy. This sibling is the role model for her husband and undeniably someone he loved deeply.

 _So he has loved deeply_.

This sibling of her husband was cherished, and loved on such a deep level by many. The maid's voice does not hide this. The words are covered in what she can only assume is longing and hurt. The betrayal and how it had occurred is made clear under a hushed tone seconds later, and the emotions her handmaid gives way to are present and decorating her as it turns to grief. It all comes with the ideal that they felt he had died when he had betrayed them all.

Sakura does not know at what point she has dismissed handmaid, and thanked her for the new found knowledge. Light steps have taken her from the dark of her bedroom and out to the garden. The flicker of her eyes to the lone cherry tree her husband seems so fond of stands before her. The feelings of vexation, and frustration have washed themselves out of her system as she places her digits across her mouth. Curling into herself she lets the sadness decorate her milky face. Rose-colored hair shields the sadness from any worker who might witness this moment within their garden.

 _This man has lost too much_.

His mother and father gone from this Earth. They were gone from his side never to return. His brother whom he had adored glowingly from the words spoken now fights him a war that seems to last forever. He too was gone from his side unable to return when he chose to side with the Senju.

This man truly has been given nothing to hold onto.

She can see him literally doing all that he can to protect whatever remains within his grasp.

When this washes off she knows the earlier vexation felt towards Sasuke will be there, but she would swallow it all. There would be no release because she could not burden him with her temper. She will hide this side of her.

No matter what it takes she will welcome him home with a smile. She will be the one to stand by his side in a world where he had lost those deeply apart of him.

* * *

 **Author Note**

It's really interesting seeing what you guys think as I take you on this little ride of fiction. Never in my entire life would I have ever considered this getting 100+ follows and honestly. . . that's pretty damn intimidating, but I have so much I can't want to post and share with you guys, and I hope as we go through this journey together that you definitely look back and think it was worth it. Since I hit 100+ follows last night I decided posting chapter three now was a good time.

Let's hit some of those reviews now.

To the guest who said my response leads you to believe I will have Sasuke cheat. That's all you, my dude. It does not matter when, how, or what you say I'm not saying yes or no. That being said, my duuuuuuude _I love Neji_. I just. God that boy. That poor sweet cinnamon roll child is laifu. Naruto will pop up eventually.

To the other expecting a warning. My dude, **life doesn't give you warnings** , and I won't be giving them for anything regardless of the content (death, lemon, etc.). That completely breaks the flow of the story and I'm just not. I'm officially done with this whole topic though. I won't continue to discuss the possibility of cheating from here on out.

To the guest who brought up my lack of dialogue. Naaaaaaaaa you're so on point with it lol I don't blame you. Dialogue absolutely scares the hell out of me so no blame on you for getting bored of my paragraphs from hell. I live in the world of flowery language. _It's an absolute problem_ , and I hope as it progresses I can try to give you more dialogue. Looking back on the 120+ pages (we're roughly 30 deep with this chapter) that I've written though . . . it's gonna be a reaaaaal hot minute _imsosorryseriously_

777, my dude, you guys take the time to give feedback and it's only fair I take the time to respond to the questions and thoughts you provide. I appreciate every review because it's feedback of some kind. Regardless of positive or negative comments I seriously appreciate anyone who gives me a small minute of their time.

Seashell and all ya'll who are with me on that progression _#fistbump_ ya'll legit, and I'm so glad I'm not the only one who about that. Seriously, praise you.


	4. The Strategy

**Chapter 4**  
The Strategy

* * *

He goes to the clinic instead of to her. They have not spoken since their fight. She had chosen to not see him off, and it had only further agitated him more. Their fight had brought him distraction on the field of battle, and that has only caused him to sink further within his lividity.

As he enters their home he can feel her and yet she is not there to greet him. The silence within the halls is long and thick only leaving the tension to linger with the air. His home had never held the warmth it had when his mother was still among them—it has lost even more feelings of home within their fight—it has lost her greeting him within the entry way. His steps take him within the darkened halls so familiar and known, and it's with each step he takes that the harsh words he had thrown at her become echos within his ears. He feels the venom of what he wishes to say at the base of his throat begging to be unleashed on his wife.

In the garden is where he finds her. Incorrectly dressed for the time of year as the air is taking an early trip into winter. The cream sleeping garment sits loosely upon her shoulders providing no form of true warmth. Snow does not float down from the sky painted in night and there's the smallest of seconds given to note in how the temperature has dropped more since he had last been home.

The rose-colored locks have been left untamed by ribbon or style and follow her movements as she goes to gaze upon him.

There is a tightness to her features and he expects that she has harbored the same agitation he has held for her in these last few weeks. He finds his feet carrying him in solid strides to her ready to spit the venom that has begged for release within the base of his throat.

"I'm sorry, Sasuke-kun."

He almost chokes on his tongue— _what had she said_? He hasn't even made it to her, and he sees her fists tighten at her sides with the smallest of shakes. He sees her biting her bottom lip as if it would hold back her anger that threatens to spill just as much as his own.

Suddenly and without any warning at all he feels the urge to apologize back.

He would not though.

Instead he would simply stare at her form. He thinks she is done with her apology with her biting back the anger that has flushed her but he couldn't be more wrong, "I'm sorry I spoke to him. I'm sorry I did not see you off. I'm sorry I—" and she continues forward with her apology. She never falters. Her steps are even as she makes her way towards him shortening the distance between them even more. Her brows are pinched together in what can only be described as anger, and yet she just continues to give apology after apology, promise after promise to do better.

He feels the urge to grip her shoulders to shake her at her need to say such things. This. This here. This was not an argument. This was a one-sided _slaughter_ on his part if all she spilled was apologies. There was fire in his wife and he would not think otherwise. He would not— _he could not_ —believe the words falling from her mouth. There was no way he had been wrong at seeing the anger flash across her face. There was no way she had not been upset with him for speaking to her in such a way. There was no way she was not just as mad at him as he was her.

He was no fool, and this woman—this ethereal otherworldly nymph of spring—wore her emotions and heart on her sleeve, and he would not be told that in almost the seven months they had been married he could not decipher them properly.

He itched to grab hold of her and scream at her till she spoke her mind, spoke her thoughts, spoke all the things she was holding back. He longed to hear what she truly thought of him—she did not need to hide behind the false words she had spoken to Tajima with him. He was not _kind_. He knew he was not. He was not _caring_. He knew he was not. He was not _loving_. He knew he was not— _and he wouldn't force her to tell him so_. He would back down. He would swallow this urge to continue this one-sided fight and would retreat back. She had made this easy on him and yet so incredibly difficult at the same time.

"Come—I want to sleep." his voice was tinted with strain as he held his hand out to her.

There was hesitation, and then there was her hand raising to his. Her fingers were soft as she rested it within his palm. Roughened tips wrap around the delicate hand chilled from the winter air.

He does not understand her.  
She does not understand him.

Maybe they weren't meant to understand each other at all.

* * *

She has seen him off once more. They have fallen into their roles again. The dutiful wife she has been finds its way back and he holds no complaints. His travels are taking him farther from her this time.

He briefly questions what she will do in the weeks to come without him, but loses the train of thought quickly as he hears the call of a comrade.

The weeks of trying to take one village come with major injury and casualty. There is bitterness deep within his gut at seeing Hikaku as he is slaughtered before him just out of reach. The Senju who had taken such care in making sure to do it mercilessly out of his reach is the same as the one who had longed to obtain _her_ before she had even gazed her viridan upon him.

He feels it weigh on his mind as they make their way home. He does not make way for the clinic nor his wife. He makes way to Hikaku's family. He feels his stomach turn with acid rising in his throat as the fallen man's wife opens the door. She knows the second her eyes fall upon him. She is not stupid. Her eyes are wide. Her lip trembling. Her heart is being vice-gripped, and before Sasuke can even utter the words to her she holds her hand up. Hikaku's wife graces him with a pained smile and shakes her head bowing to him. Her voice is but a whisper that follows him as he gives his own bow thanking her family for their support, blood, sweat, and tears. He gives praise to the fallen man in an attempt to give the widow some form of comfort that he knows she needs.

He continues to hear her sob of a thank you as he makes his way into his home. His eyes never find the viridian that are there. His nymph's voice is muffled and cannot break the voice of his fallen comrade's wife. He feels her hands on his face and yet it's not what he would have thought it would have felt like. His face feels unbelievably numb. Her fingers do not feel soft as they should soaked in this numb feeling. He hears a raised voice from the woman before him. He finds her kneeling under him capturing his gaze finally, and yet he cannot see her even with the squeeze she gives to his hand. He doesn't know when she has grabbed his hand. He knows she is there though. He knows she is searching for a response. Swallowing thickly he finally supplies it with a hand to her shoulder.

She has led him to the bedroom. She has cast his armor from him throwing it across the floor and taken his shirt off to access his tired and exhausted form. Her hands are glowing, and mending. They are healing, and yet he still says nothing of the sort to her. Thoughts of this nymph of spring finally break the hold the widow has over him, but it does not place him into present time. It only proves to drop him further down into the drowning sensation he has allowed his mind to fall within.

This woman.

Why does she continue to put forth her best when all he can put forth is the barest of efforts? She continues to heal him even after he tells her he's fine. She continues to put forth a smile before he leaves and as he returns. She continues to wait for him. She gives to him as if it is second nature to do so—as if she was _meant_ to give to him only.

He awakes with a start his breathing labored, as he hears the scream of one of his most trusted—hoarse and hysteric—bounce within the room. He feels his air choke him without remorse. The coughing fit is rough and makes his aches more pronounced. All at once it disappears as delicate thin fingers run through his hair from his neck up. A cup comes into his line of sight to which he shakily takes it. Light soothing noises fall from her lips as she continues to rub his scalp with those impossibly soft digits.

He brings the cup to his mouth taking a sip only to choke once more onto the bitterness that graces his tongue. The liquid is foreign, and one so very much unlike what he had expected. She gives his back a light thump to stop the new choking fit he almost finds himself in.

"It's medicinal. It'll give warmth to the body, and provide strength." her voice is soft in his ear as if testing if he'll make any recognition she has even said it.

"Hn."

She seems to approve of the recognition he has provided as her hand finally leaves itself from his locks. There is a feeling similar to loss laced with longing in him after she removes them, but he dismisses it just the same gazing at her, "Hikaku was slaughtered."

He watches her voice catch in her throat. He watches the emotions decorate her features. His wife runs through the surprise, the disbelief, and then settles within the grief. Her features twist in it and he sees the viridian glass over as she has long since removed her gaze from his. Her fingers have twisted into the fabric of the bright colored teal kimono turning her knuckles white. He sees the clear teardrops fall, and yet her doe-eyes are brighter than he could ever recall in that moment.

It's in this moment that he cannot decide which he prefers—to see her smile or to see her tears.

His arm reaches out wrapping around her shoulders and presses her into him. He lets her tears soak into his shoulder as he holds her there and lets her give into the closeness that _he_ has provided for her just this once.

There are whispered apologies as if she blames herself for the slaughter.

It's as if she knows that it was brought from the one who had longed for _her_.

* * *

Sakura does not dare to leave Sasuke's side until he is back to daily life. It is only once that has come that she seeks out the widow she had grown close to. Hikaku's wife is still mourning, and it is in these moments that she is able to lend her hand to her. The woman who had continued to give her help, show her their ways, and given her friendship in the time she had been here needed her now.

The knock on the door is shallow out of fear of what she will see. The Uchiha woman opens the door her once gorgeous face is tired, and eyes are bloodshot. There is no care in her appearance. This strong woman before her has retreated into herself.

There are no words spoken before she wraps her arms around the Uchiha woman and holds her tightly. The apologies she spills are heavyhearted and filled with remorse. The woman clings to her sobbing.

How many tears has she shed since the news arrived?  
How long has she waited for someone to embrace her?

The spring wife pulls them into the house closing the door behind them. No one needed to see the widow in such moments. These were entirely private. The woman before her one she associate with pride. This woman had been filled to the brim with pride toward her husband and her clan, and to have everyone see such things would destroy her later, and wound her even deeper.

It takes time before the tears have stopped and she can see the shell this woman has become even more clearly. There is no treatment for a broken heart. There is nothing but time to mend her. Sakura knows she can provide nothing to her in these moments except her presence, and ear.

Her viridian cannot look away. This is something she makes sure she retains in detail. Every tear. Every blemished brought by rubbing. Every lost look. Every part of this woman needed to be remembered. This could be her at any moment, and the fear it places inside her sends her stomach plummeting. Sasuke could become Hikaku at any time.

He was not a creature who did not feel pain. He was not a man outside of god's rules. It only took one mistake, one error, one moment of misjudging the enemy and his enemies attack would tear into him. Their attack would drain the life from those endless ebony. Their attack would soak his pale skin with blood unable to making it to her glow of healing.

He would end up just like Hikaku.

The fear then turns to anguish at the revelation that he could pass through her fingers. There is desperation within her as it all hits her with clarity that if he was to die there was nothing she could do. The desperation is a plague that caresses her being with a simple question and reality.

 _Did he care if he died_?

It makes her stomach twist violently. This man went into battle without love tying him to the world. This man needed love. She needed to give more. The quite admiration—no, god no, do not make it sound so much less than what it was and the beginning of _love_ is absolutely what this was—she had begun to hold was not enough. The urge to become his anchor to the world was ringing in her ears. Surely if he loved he would care if he died. He would be sure to take greater care in the throes of battle.

There is selfishness in these thoughts and she knows it.  
It makes vomit rise in her throat.  
She was disgusting within her selfishness.

Viridian takes in the woman before her once more. This was not what she wanted to be come. She would pray to all of her gods. She would pray to all of his gods in the effort to not become what was before her.

This woman had loved her husband so deeply, and in return her husband had loved her deeply. That love had shattered this woman.

Knees buckle as she sees herself in the broken woman before her. Sakura grasps the woman's hands tenderly as her words from what felt like forever ago ring loud in her ear. The price of what she said visually in front of her.

There is no greater clarity.

 _The Uchiha love far deeper than anyone else._

* * *

The snow has landed tenderly and winter is in full motion. It's white fluff has brought about the extreme chill and the New Year is only in a matter of hours. He is not fond of the crowd of people who come out for hatsumode, and yet he will take her to make sure they bring in the New Year properly.

He decides its a form of atonement.

A silent apology for all the cruelty he has brought her into her life.

His ebony fall to her. He wonders at what point in their marriage he will not find her absolutely ethereal and otherworldly in moments like this. He thought she would cling to her cheongsam in this moment and yet she stands before him in a kimono taking their fashion again and making it entirely her own. The black makes her milky complexion all the more pale, the gold intricate designs that decorate the fabric only helps to highlight her, and the pale fur that lines the collar wrapping around her neck give her cheeks a warm tint. He wonders how she has managed to pin the long rose-colored strands upon her head with a hair piece that only stands to illuminate her spring features with dangling cherry blossoms. He does not question in the slightest that if she turned around his clans emblem is stitched with expert hands to the back—it's white is bright and the red is a beautiful deep rich shade.

He awaits for her to exit following behind with calls of farewell trailing from the maids behind him. Her steps are slow at first awaiting him to stand in front of her and yet he does not allow her to do so as he offers his arm. The hesitance she has brings forth a bitter taste and yet he does not blame her. Delicate digits wrap themselves around his arm as the make their way through the mass of people from among the village. Many give their pleasantries to them. A nod. A bow. It all matters not to him, but there is the appreciation lingering with in it that seeks to remind him endlessly why he fights.

They come across Hikaku's wife, and children. His wife separates herself from him in the briefest of moments. He watches her lower her head to her. Sakura's voice is soft as she expresses her hopes that their loss the previous year is washed away and hopes for them to move forward into the New Year with lifted hearts. He questions when they had become close as he watches the two women come together in a tight hug. He gives his own nod to Hikaku's wife as she looks at him over his wife's shoulder. The widow's eyes close giving signal that she appreciates his kindness. The fingers twisted in the spring nymph's kimono undo themselves to allow her the chance to wrap her arms securely around his wife's neck.

There is so much heart behind the two women's actions.  
There is so much silent understanding between them.

What was hours of wait feels so short as they now stand in front of the shrine giving their offerings, bell ring, and prayers. He thanks the gods for the successes he's had in the previous year, and for allowing him to continue forward in trying to make the world a better place under his commander. He requests for continued success, and to continue giving the woman beside him patience he could never obtain.

Her smile is soft as she glances at him. They make their way home, and there is a knowing feeling that whispers she is holding herself back. She does not want to partake in the social atmosphere of their people and seems to desire a more quiet place. He is unsure of how to feel with this. She was truly a social butterfly from the whispers he had caught through their marriage. He follows her in and they make their way down the halls that wrap around their home. They enter their bedroom, and it is here he watches her bend down to grab something from her low vanity before making way for the engawa. Sasuke can only continue to follow her as she closes one door and opens another making her way to the garden.

He does not understand her antics and he does not try to claim he does. The snow crunches underneath her, and he can only continue to follow. It's in front of the snow covered cherry tree that she ties the object upon a low branch with care, and it is now that she turns those glowing viridian to him.

"Happy New Year, Sasuke-kun."

The voice in which she has used to say his name is different. The warmth still hangs upon each syllable she speaks, but there is an even greater emotion carried in it. Ebony finds it's way to what she has hung upon the tree. It is a deep rich red with intricate knots flowing throughout it and gold bells dangle from its ends. The object makes him turn his gaze back to her.

"In my culture the New Year does not begin for several more weeks. Objects of red, and gold representing vitality of life, happiness, wealth and prosperity hang and adorn every place you look during our celebrations." there is a momentary pause and a pale pink tints her cheeks as she plays with her hands in front of her, "The knot I've hung protects from evil spirits, and represent endless life or longevity."

Sasuke can only swallow as he takes in her words, and thought behind the small decoration she has hung. There is certainty that she had picked this with careful thought, and prepared it in advance.

This woman was hoping for protection within their home from the war. This woman was desiring he live long through the war.

Ebony close, and he takes in a deep breath. He feels a touch of nervousness as he opens his eyes once more, "Thank you, Sakura."

There is surprise, and then he sees the glow of her eyes brighten as tears start to fall, and he is now questioning what he has said wrong taking a step towards her.

"No, Sasuke-kun, _thank you so much_." the happiness rings in her gratitude, and it has made her voice crack as she brings her hand to hide her eyes from his. It's in this reflexive action that she misses his face decorated in astonishment. There is pride swelling within him at this display before him.

 _Ah._

He truly does like when she _cries_.

* * *

The hum she sings to herself is low and simple as she stands in the kitchen preparing tea for her husband and his guest. Soft steps carry her to them as she kneels to prepare their cups as they debate over a map laid upon the chabudai.

Her husband's guest is of the loud sort, and not one she would have expected to be in his company. His voice seems to not know of the term inside voice, and yet she finds she enjoys the humor coming from him at the expense of her husband tickles her in the warmest of sensations.

Serving the cup in front of the stranger makes him take his eyes to her, and there is obvious curiosity brewing in them, "Who do we have here?"

"Suigetsu." there is a warning in her husband's voice.

This warning does not seem to reach the man before her, "So pinky, we got a name?" this man leans forward making her lean back at his invasion of personal space.

"Sakura." the response she produces is a bit abrupt but it does not seem to be noticed by the man—Suigetsu was it?

She continues to be ill prepared as the man's hand comes forward taking strands of her rose-colored locks between his fingers, "Aren't you cute?" humor is flowing through the statement.

There is annoyance at the idea of being played with, there is the slightest tightening of her jaw, and then there is the hiss of pain that escapes his mouth as her fingers forcibly pry the strangers from her hair as he curses at her, "What the fuck!?"

It makes her bend the hand with ease at the continued disrespect, "Sakura. That is enough."

She lets go at the sound of her husbands voice, and her mouth parts slightly as moves her viridian to her husband. There was humor in that voice, and there is a smirk across his lips.

"Goddammit it pinky, what the fuck is with that strength!?"

"Suigetsu. Focus." the humor is still there and she's watching as his eyes dance with the amusement.

A glare is given in response, but the focus is brought back to the map as she proceeds with serving the two men. The smile that had found it's place decorates her mouth as she sits quietly reveling in her husbands now abandoned amusement.

It's only moments later though that it's forgotten as the men continue debating over strategy. Leaning forward she glances the map over biting her lip and taking in the discussion going back and forth. It seems Sasuke has made a decision, and it causes her to shake her head openly. Her hand raises and runs over the map, "That path is less traveled but expected. You'd be figured out easily."

Her voice makes the men whip their heads to look at her at her sudden invasion on the topic.

She brings her fingers to her mouth taking no note of the wide eyed stares that have fallen on her as she mentally debates with herself over the map, "This section here is used for trade, and should be dismissed as well. . ."

Neither male speaks, and she is now drumming her fingers against the chabudai as if unsure, "The Nara's are genius's when it comes to battle tactics and will definitely expect something on the Northwest as well."

"Well, pinky, what do you _suggest_ then?"

Her brows pinch at the nickname he has given her as she leans forward once more tapping her finger on a section of the map closest to him, "This section here. Come in from the mountains. They are dangerous in the winter season, but have excellent coverage. Anyone with half a thought would never attack in fear of an avalanche."

"Well damn, pinky, please enlighten us more while your at it."

Sakura can only click her tongue at his continued sarcasm, "I've been to this area so I know the area well." Kneeling over the table she maps the layout of the smaller villages and their placement along with the one they are seeking to attack, "Lemon Balm is plentiful in this area here. Tsunade-shishou would send me to gather it constantly due to it's versatility."

The clearing of her husbands throat brings their attention to him, "From the mountains then." and it's the look he's giving her that makes her cheeks feel warm. The look isn't one of longing, or warmth. The look holds something else, and that something is recognition.

The spring wife can only sit properly at the gaze that follows her, and it suddenly makes her feel self-conscious as she registers that she has just butted into things that held nothing to do with her.

* * *

He feels a surge of pride in his chest as he looks around the newly captured village. The strategy the spring nymph had given had worked. The elated voices of those who fought to bring the village down dance around him.

It did not take a large push to gain the advantage in this battle, and the casualty rate was low. No one would disagree that the plan had made their invasion effortless.

His steps carry him through what remains of the damaged and broken village, and it is with great care that he takes the sight in fully. He wonders how many times her feet had carried her through these streets. There is curiosity in her time spent here.

Did she know those bound and glaring in his direction?  
Did she have friends among the opposing side?  
Would she regret giving him this plan?

Coming to a stop his eyes fell upon the barely standing clinic. He could picture her walking in and assisting those who called this village home. He's entering the shattered remains of the building. It's inside is all rubble, broken glass, scorched surfaces, and shattered remains of what it had been. This does not lessen his travel through it. She here in the halls, she's there in the rooms, and when he thinks he can feel her walking beside him he hears the sudden sound of glass breaking beneath his foot.

Fingers dance across the shattered glass giving way to a photo ripped, and covered in dirt. There she stands though far younger, and far smaller than she is now. The people beside her pale easily next to her forcing you to focus on those otherworldly features of hers. The wide smile plastered on her face is one he has yet to see in person.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?"

Sasuke is brought back to the present and his thoughts of her are halted by the interruption provided by the loud mouth behind him.

The male is smirking letting his sharp teeth come out as he makes his way beside him to look at the photo in his hands, "Would you look at pinky there!" there is a whistle that escapes from his mouth.

Annoyance is festering at the comment but he simply lets the photo to the floor turning to walk away. Suigetsu seems to have other plans for him though kneeling above the discarded photo, "Aww come on now, oh fearless leader, you sure you don't want to bring this back to her?"

A brow raises at the comment as he looks back noting the look of mirth reflected in the lavender lingering on the photo of his wife, "Your wife seems to have always been a cute little thing."

A resounding crack is in the air.

The struggle for oxygen evident in gasps.

There is a tightening of his hand around a windpipe.

"Shut your mouth."

The aggression is warning. A simple, and clear warning. He would make sure it was clear to the male who's windpipe was gripped in his fingers that he would not tolerate another off handed about his wife. Compliment or not he was growing tired of the loud mouth's constant comments since meeting her.

The shinobi tapped his arm to give signal that he understood the underlying threat, and the underlying intention of what could happen should he dare speak out of turn once more. Fingers finally relax letting the sharped tooth man free from it's vice like grip.

Sasuke walks away as the man gives out a hiss of displeasure rubbing caresses along his throat and following behind him. This little break of his was over. There was more to do, and spoils to decide futures for. The sooner he finished his work here the sooner he, and his men could return home.

He could not delay them any longer than he already had with such trivial adventures.

* * *

At the gates she stands prepared to welcome him home. The wind and chilled air numbs her face, but she barely notices. Word of their victory had come from an unlikely source. He had sent her message by hawk—the first one he had ever given her within his time away from home. The words that were across the page were simple, few, and to the point.

 _We won_.

Her heart had fluttered knowing she had been useful to him. The sense of relief she felt at knowing she had helped him survive another battle gave her hope in a quick return home after weeks of absence. Through word of mouth at the clinic she had heard their expected arrival date.

They are coming up in the distance, and the memory of his words made her clasp her hands to her chest as she felt her heartbeat quicken. It takes everything in her being to not run out the gate to meet them half way. Time though brings him closer, and closer, and the wait she feels is worth it when he finally is standing before her.

He is within her reach. It had felt like forever, and yet so slow—so breathtakingly slow. The look of disinterest that is so him is there, and those endless ebony are staring into hers, and it's as if time has stopped just for them. Delicate fingers tighten their grip on the fabric of kimono desperate to keep the excitement at bay as if it would scare him from her.

This doesn't stop the smile from blossoming onto her features and the glow of her eyes. Those that pass do not enter her line of sight. Sasuke's entire presence is what holds her focus and she feels completely surrounded by him. This man before her warms her entire being further vanquishing the winter air.

Her mouth hopes, and with the flex of her hand lightening and tightening back up she closes it. Now he's looking at her with the smallest of curiosity, and that curiosity is what finally makes her move her hand from her chest, and hold it out in front of him.

"Welcome home, Sasuke-kun."

The words she speaks are normal, and common between them. This is nothing she hasn't said to him before, but there is the slightest up tilt at the corner of his mouth, and something that looks like amusement in his eyes. He is smirking at her.

Her smile grows even wider giving way to her teeth. There is warmth in the palm of her hand and her fingers curl gently around his. There is no doubt in her mind that this moment here is one she'll remember forever, because this is a moment in which hope is present.

Maybe he has started to feel anchored to this world.  
Maybe he has begun to feel anchored to her.

* * *

The roles in which they had played were reversed. The momentary realization was quickly pushed aside watching her fasten her shoots in place, and tugging forth that cream colored hood she sported in travels during the cooler season. The air outside was dissipating into the season of spring giving forth the coolest of mornings and winds, and that sun kissed warmth that lingered lightly.

He maintained his position back leaning against the wall facing the genkan his spring nymph wive stood upon. His eyes followed every movement, every sway, and every subtle shift she made. Those strands of hers were kept at bay by the simplest of ponytails that cascaded over her shoulder.

There was such an uncharacteristic smile on her face. It was one that did not beam at him as it had at the gates weeks prior to upon his return home. It was not one that held back a foreboding. This smile sat odd upon her as if she had retreated into herself but was giving forth a smile of reassurance to those who knew nothing of heart warming glances.

"Please be sure to eat properly while I am away, Sasuke-kun." her voice was ringing out to him with hesitance.

"Ah."

A silence strong passing through the air.

A deep breath of preparation.

Was it from him?

Was it from her?

"I will come back to you soon." her voice was soft and so reassuring, but to who she was trying to reassure was beyond him.

"Hn." ebony touched upon the one assisting in his spring wife's journey, "Thank you for taking her, Naori."

A nod with ebony pools, a lingering gaze with glowing viridan, and they were gone from his side. Air escaped him finally that he hadn't know he was holding. The trip his wife was on was not one to fear, and yet it ate away at his insides. This world of war had taught him far to clearly that there was no schedule for battle, and no place shielded from the wrath that came in and out of peoples lives.

The mother-in-law had called for her though wishing to see her child, and who was he to keep her from her family. Had his needs not be needed for another mission he would have accompanied her. It was here though that the priority had given way, and would show his wife were she stood in terms of his commitments.

Bitterness filled his taste at the sentiment, and honesty behind such things. Sasuke knew he owed his wife nothing, and had promised nothing, but that didn't seem to lower the bitterness that rose upon him when looking at it for what it was.

"I see she has left your side?"

"Ah."

He felt no reason to utter more to the elder Uchiha sitting in patience among the rest that awaited his return from seeing of the otherworldly wife. He took his own seat at the chabudai ready to continue forth with the discussion of their next mission.

Tension would rise and fall among the members present as deliberation continued in full force . Elder Uchiha, and younger Uchiha coming to disagree upon where to turn their attention next. Forces strong, but tired of the consistent battling.

The only reprieve they had been given was but a lingering memory when the agreed cease for traditions outside of his own came upon the calender. Clans from both sides took in the cease fire to cross lines and celebrate with family keeping to their words and maintain the peace for just that short while. That had been before his last mission though, and was now out of fingers reach by many days he dared not count.

The slightest of breathes escaped him as he rose to his feet opening a the door to bask in the cool air that would chill his heated skin. The whisper of words behind him fell upon deaf ears as he made his way down the hall way taking in the yet to bloom cherry tree. It's branches the elegant they had always been the very visual he took in for a moment of clarity and yet he ignored them for the sole intricate—almost intimate—knot that she had wrapped at the beginning of the year.

"Sasuke-san, have the talks exhausted you?"

There is a momentary decision to not answer and then he remembers his etiquette to the elders of their clan. Higher rank or not these were his brothers-in-arms, the ones who sought to help them end this war, and to give them their best as they took their places on the frontlines.

"No. I agree we should plan carefully." gaze wavering from the red knot to the elder Uchiha, "We will follow your lead, Yashiro-san."

* * *

 **Author Note**

We hit 150 follows and so my darling, and wonderful BeatOneHeart (beeeeeeeeatheat, my dudes) is actually making a fanart of this. I'm losing my mind honestly. Beatheat was also super awesome and read through this chapter, and pointed somethings out that I didn't catch in my initial revision. Someone on my story Lifetimes asked about my tumblr and so if you're also interested in that mess I have it linked on my page, but if that doesn't work I'm under username Ombreecha (can't miss me and my mustache Sasuke icon loool) Thank you to all the new reviews I've gotten, and I absolutely appreciate you guys taking the time to give feedback, and tell me what you liked, and even the stuff you might dislike.

Outside of the two reviewers who wrote paragraphs on stuff I said I would no longer be discussing there wasn't really any other questions or things that needed to be addressed. I will respond to one of you since you were the least aggressive. I am very much aware of why people don't like it seeing as I've been the person cheated on. People are welcome to express their dislike, but that doesn't mean I have to tell them what happens (Why would you read it if I just told you what happened? That's lame). You talked about the subject and did not put words in my mouth which is why I felt fine addressing it with you. As for warnings I still have no intention of providing them. I cannot think of a single time I've picked up a book and been given a warning when something was about to happen (unless you count goosebump's whole reader beware thing). If someone absolutely requires a warning they are welcome to stop reading.

I appreciate anyone who gives this a read, but at the end of the day please keep in mind. _I wrote this for me_. I never had any intention to actually post this and only ended up doing it with enough people telling me to. Anyone who follows, reviews, faves, etc. etc. is absolutely appreciated and it seriously fills me up with pride that I wrote something others enjoyed, but at the end of the day this story was written for me, and plan to keep writing it for me.


	5. The Bones

x . x . x  
 **Chapter 5**  
The Bones

* * *

Days had turned to weeks, and yet she was not back to her husband's side welcoming him home from his daily routine, or spur of the moment missions. The home she had been taken from in the name of politics and war had changed little in her time away. It had been missed, and there had been the oddest sense of peace within her when they had first arrived. That peace had done little for the longing that had settled over her only days in. It whispered within the mornings, and it echoed within the nights, and yet she was no closer to returning to him.

Those moments she desired to return to stood forever away from her grasp as her ears rang within the screams that echoed around her.

The trip had been a simple one, and one she could have never foreseen falling so far down hill in the fire that erupted around them so traitorously. Her mother had called for her upset and wishing to see her after being unable to come to their side to welcome the New Year in a time so different from the Uchiha's traditions. She had come reluctantly, and now her heartaches of what's become of her not too long ago home.

 _Never would she have wished to watch such things before her_.  
Never would she have traveled to _watch it all burn_ and _fall apart_.

Lungs burned with smoke, and the slaughter around her had her glowing eyes running faster than her legs could carry her. Fingers sought to save all she could, and her heart rang loudly as the next attack shook the ground beneath her feet.

An unforeseen breakout of battle had come into the unknown village she had been plucked from with all the vexation, and torment that came with war. The innocents of her little village simply victims of circumstance. They were swept within the crossfire of a battle of Senju and Uchiha.

 _Wrong place, and wrong time_.  
 _Neutral territory meant nothing_.

Her heart clenched painfully as she lunged forward. Fist connected with the skull of a boy she knew nothing of sending him flying through the air and away from one of the thousand victims of circumstance.

She could hear the familiar earthly sounds of Wood Style, and the heat of Fire Style as it clashed around her. The arts swam through the air as she sought to take another to safety. Fingers held her tightly and she could only continue running and protecting hoping to come back to her guard she had kept at bay with orders to protect the ones she saved.

The destruction did not stop the continued attempt to run back and forth willing her legs to never stop in their ache for rest. Rose-colored strands stuck to her face as she begged and pleaded to keep moving within her head. She's drenched in panic, and drenched in fear. The bodies and those that seek to get within her way only seek to further such knee jerk decisions. Even as she has made her way to her guard there is little calm that comes over her as she separates from the innocent she had managed to save, "Mama, any word of Papa?"

"He's not been found yet Sakura." her mother's voice was strained as if the worry, and fear would spill at any moment.

"Sakura-sama I cannot allow you to continue. If anything were to happ—"

Glowing viridan are quick in meeting with those of deep rich red, "Naori-san please continue to look after them all—I know I am asking a lot."

She turning, and she's not listening to the voice that calls after her. Those legs of hers carry her forward refusing to listen to logic and listen to reason. Her father was still not among those making their way from the battlefield. The priority was clear and loud echoing within her mother's desperate attempt to remain composed in times gone wrong.

They would come out _alive_ , and they would come out _together_. It did not matter how deep within the war torn village she had to go. Desperation would keep her moving, and keep her looking. The cuts, the bruising, and the blood that came from her wounds would hold no purpose if she did not find him. She would save all she could, and yet the selfishness in her would forever make _family_ the priority even in times like this.

She's not thinking things out, and her choices are but knee jerk decisions that called forth her original decisions—to bring recovery when there were so many hands bringing destruction—into question. The concave earth cried out as she broke up the string of arts and continued her move forward searching, gazing, pleading. She'd destroy the earth, and dig deep within it's crust if it made a path to him. She'd fight through those that did not know her to be friend or foe if it brought her to him. She'd do it all even if it meant being the destruction upon the battlefield.

It was then and there deep within the flames, and chaos.  
It was there in that moment when glowing viridian would meet deep rich red.  
It was there in the submerge of her viridan windows as her lungs let out a strangled cry that her fist would connect with the earth once more no longer seeking defense but _offense_.

Earth shattered and cracked did not begin to explain the wreckage of what she was capable, and what she was willing to bring in her attempts to find him—and yet she had been too late, and she had been to far.

 _All that force behind her fists seemed so unnecessary now—_ _she had brought destruction for nothing_.

The silence that came forth in that moment devoured and suffocated.  
Those features before her are so very _familiar_ , and yet so painstakingly _foreign_.  
She could not make out the arts around her—she could not hear the yells of those fighting.  
All that she could feel was the heat of the flames upon her skin as they engulfed all that stood around her.

The body fell and the eyes on features so familiar looked towards her with a lackadaisical attempt she was convinced was hereditary. Fingers twitched unsure of how to proceed. The glow of the spring wife was confused on where to cast her glance between the rose-colored strands that laid across the destroyed earth below or those of deep rich red that sought to see what she would attempt.

 _This is where she would become the girl that time forgot_.

There was no clear indication of when he had left her line of sight. There was no clear recognition on when the flames that had heated her skin, and put the salty sweat into her own wounds had ceased around her. There was no clear indication of when the battle had stopped. There was no indication of who had won. There was no clear indication of her taking in smoke filled air.

The only indication in front of her was that there her father laid slain before her.  
The voices around her remained forever out of reach.

 _Just like her husband._

"Sakura!"

Glowing viridian startle at the voice of her mother that dared to bring sound to her ears—she's sure she's praying she's imagined it. Time is merciless within its rush forward. She's not ready to awaken from this world frozen in time. She's not ready for time to remember her. She's not ready to leave the world in which time forgot.

Legs give way to the ache that had become numb within her distress. It's only as her knees come to find the shattered earth below that she truly feels that ache deep within her muscles. Fingers twisted digging into the earth as her tears soaked and blurred that which she could not handle seeing before her. She had thought she was locked within distress but little had she known it had barely begun. Her voice could not find its way from her throat choking her within her desperation to let out a wail as she found herself entranced by the body of her _father_.

She had been willing to sacrifice so much—so, so, so much—as long as they came out _together_.

" _Sakura_."

It's his voice—it's Sasuke's voice—that now rings forth making her heart pound against her ribcage. Brows pinch together and fists slam down upon the already abused and ruined earth below her shaking all that surrounded her. He had come with the battle that had washed away her old home— _that had taken her father from her._ She had longed to return to his side, and now here he was. The war had brought him to her, but it had demanded payment—and payment it had received in the _life of her father_ , and the _destruction of this village once called home_. The wail that has escaped her will not be drowned out from her spur of anguished strength. It will not be silenced by power behind her hands so small.

A body warm and loud with their own wail echoes into her ears as it envelopes her own as if seeking to shield her own from that of her bloody and lifeless father before her. Her mother is a mother even in her own anguish. No mother would dare stand by when their child cried out so hurt, and so broken.

War was not kind to any it came across.

It took without remorse upon those that tried to relieve.  
It took from even those who compromised, and gave fully.  
It took from the woman who had tried to bring recovery from it.

* * *

Ebony had followed through traditions and wails upon the funeral he could not—would not—escape. The burden upon those shoulders so small is heavy as he watchs her perform her duties as the child—he overhears of the Confucian principle of devotion to ones parents. The temple not far from the wreckage of her home away from their home has helped prepare the body and coordinate the funeral rites. The somber colors they adorn as the guests, and family—who perform the wake—sets the tone for how things will move forward.

An overnight vigil, the bringing of flowers, the funeral itself with the burning of paper—he recalls they called it joss paper—the loud cries, and wails, the handing of red envelopes with hopes for safety returning home, the procession in which he falls behind her clad in black, music of a band that marches forward, and all that comes to follow is heavy upon them all. He takes it all in far to aware of how different these moments are from his own when he had performed the traditions so familiar to him with his mother and father.

He had once stood where she now stands, he had once been the one to lay his parent to rest, and he had once been the one deep within mourning. There's no mistaking the familiarity that comes with the passing of a loved one. She is the him from so long ago—it had been so long since those times, and yet they feel so near as he stands beside her giving silent support. He had not known his father-in-law, but that does not stop him from feeling the weight of his loss upon his shoulders. His only desire is to follow her through each step in hopes he does not bring disrespect within their traditions so foreign.

This woman who had been locked within a world of spring, and now she had been dragged down from it into the depths of despair. There is a silent understanding, and the tightening of his throat in remembering his mother and father within these moments. The war continued to be cruel upon those who gave, and she was no exception.

The low voices that surround her in this funeral make themselves within his ears. He can no longer remain ignorant of this neutral village's name. He can no longer remain ignorant about her. The whispers have removed multiple mysteries behind this otherworldly spring nymph and all that has taken place in a time when she had not gazed upon him.

The clearest of them all is what has built her until this moment before him. This otherworldly creature was birthed and brought into their world in Konohagakure. There was a time in which she spent her youth living in that of Tanigakure. That youth brought her to Kusagakure where she worked as an adult before being plucked to become his wife.

 _Konohagakure heart, Tanigakure eyes, Kusagakure bones_.

Fingers twitched at seeing her adorn the white around her left sleeve—it symbolizes a person in her culture in mourning he's told. He has been given pardon in this time to mourn with her. There are no reds upon her person in the weeks that have followed the procession, and her return home.

There is an odd air that overhangs this once bright spring wife of his, and he is unsure how to handle her with her heart no longer adorning her sleeve in that spring warmth that he has grown to know and his family crest not stitched upon her back. The words Izuna parted him with when checking in echo within his being.

 _Her loss is all that she knows in this moment allow her to embrace it in the traditions she's familiar with_.

He had questioned her mourning as she plastered the soft smile cheap in quality upon her face as they go through the days to come. Hikaku's wife had come to her when they returned seeking to care for her and lend a hand. They had held looks of understanding when she had first taken his wife within a warm embrace before he had chosen to sit out within the hall—he does not wish to let her to far from him, and yet desires to give her privacy in her mourning. Those soft smiles gauged the question of reality versus myth. It dared to make him question if his memories of her shattering the earth beneath her had been but a figment of his imagination. It dared to make him question if he, and those who had come too little too late to aid the village plunged into war had seen it wrong. That white upon her sleeve though is all it takes to know that he had not imagined her being the one to quake the earth and shatter her way to where he found her—he would believe nothing less.

It's in those moments when he catches the white around her arm that he seeks to give her more privacy. He seeks to give her time to mourn privately and without fear of his eyes upon her. He seeks to give her some form of comfort in leaving her to mourn in these traditions only she knows. Their home has become heavy with unspoken words, and thoughts that threaten to spill. There is fear in what she would speak, and what she would finally allow to enter the air between them. There is fear he cannot comfort her properly.

The whispers through out his home talk of her temper giving way so unlike before. It talks of her loss of patience. No one dares to speak out of turn though—they fear his wrath should they not deal with these small out bursts. He feels regret in not letting her stay with her mother, but relieved that she is safe within his sight. He feels regret that he has taken her so far from her father no longer among them, and without her mother who could give her proper comfort. He has made her alone within her mourning. Yet he is relieved that he can watch over her even if that is all he can provide. Silently, he hopes she finds comfort that he will not leave her in this state.

Sasuke can only gaze upon the cherry tree finally in bloom, and yet it is almost bitter sweet.  
It does nothing to bring calm within their home. This feeling thick within his home is far worse than that of when they had fought—it suffocates in an entirely new way.

Ears perk at the sound of a crash he can only assumes echoes from the kitchen. His wife's voice comes quickly after the words assaulting the maids that only seek to assist her as she performs her wifely duties. The shuffling of feet is what makes him finally come to seek her out. Soft steps are what carry him through the halls as if the smallest of noises would make her anger come out once more. Rounding the corner he cannot stop his need to halt at the door that would lead within the kitchen that she resides within. It is as if what he sees will be something that he should not.

There is the sharp intake of air that he is sure is filling her lungs, and then the muffle of a cry, and it's at that sound that he cannot hold himself at the door any longer. He cannot continue to give her privacy within her mourning. The sight he takes in is what he finds twisting his insides as she stands in the kitchen with flour coating herself and the floor.

Those delicate fingers that shattered the earth below her in her wail are dug into her hairline with palms pressing those viridian that overflow in her anguish. This new cry calls his steps forward once again—there is something coaxing about her strangled cries that beckons him to her. He can tell she's trying to contain them in her throat making her choke and release them in more sharp gasps. She's alone within her mourning and there's no doubt he's done this wrong. He's done her wrong in thinking she needed privacy.

He's only made her think she cannot outwardly express her loss.

This otherworldly creature before him who is the incarnation of spring—with her rose-colored strands, glowing viridian ocular windows, pale purple mark, and milky unblemished skin—is but the shell of the woman he remembered standing in his— _no their_ —genkan before she had left his side.

The ways in which they mourn are so different and yet the heavyhearted feelings are all too familiar—no, no _they are the same_.

Fingers find their way into those untamed pink strands as they wrapped themselves around her shoulder to press her toward him. This unconscious action is bringing her to him—it's all in an effort to comfort her as she needs to be comforted. It's all in an effort to make her see she is not alone in her loss. The sharp intake of breath and alertness at his presence causes her to resist and yet he will not allow her to separate from him in this new moment of closeness _he_ is giving her.

Delicate little fingers are curling in his shirt, and his own rough ones have found their way to the back of her head cradling it. Her sobs fall harder as she gives into her momentary weakness. There are no words that escape his mouth, and her tears are all that fills the otherwise overwhelming silence their home has fallen into from her outburst of anger.

He will let her sorrow pour for as long as she requires in this moment.  
What more could he give this woman who seemed to never ask for anything in return?

Sasuke does not know how to comfort her in this moment more than what he has given. It brings frustration to him, and it makes him want to open his mouth and give more—but that is not something he truly understands how to do. He has always taken and in the moment where he wants to give he is empty handed. He is lost in how to do just that— _he can only give her protection_.

She has fallen too far and he is unable to clean the salt from her scars.  
He is staring into her Konohagakure heart, Tanigakure eyes, and Kusagakure bones.  
She is nothing more than a whistle in the graves she has visited.  
This woman before him is paradox.

The rough digits cradling her neck give way to curl tenderly into the rose-colored strands pushing her harder into him as if to make her realize his desire to protect her. She is but a victim of compromise stuck with a man who continues to waste moments full of atonement. She is truly the woman that time forgot.

It's here that he can pictures those eyes so long ago gazing upon him with disdain— _he deserves it all_.  
It's here that he wishes to begin giving more to this union—this _marriage—_ that he once had bitter taste for.  
It's here that he promises to make time remember the woman it had forgot.

* * *

They sit peacefully among their garden as her head rests against his shoulder. He does not remove it or make way to have her change the closeness that she once again creates. He is trying as best he can in only the ways he discovers as they present themselves.

Silence is the atmosphere in which they reside. It's no longer is suffocating as it had been before she had broke within their kitchen. It is no longer deep within unspoken words, and thoughts. The smallest of light hums falls from her, and yet they are barely heard in this moment. Sasuke can only wonder if time has remembered her deep within her mourning period. Her temper had quelled, and the small out breaks had become fewer as the days passed since then.

These little moments of peace with her even as she continued to wear the white showing forth her continued mourning are all the more worth it—he did not dare wish to gaze upon such distress as her heavy heart broke her down and threw her where he could not reach.

The sensation that comes with this peace between them is still foreign. There is an odd sense of claim to her now that he had not considered when they had first gazed at each other so long ago—since they had wed. There is a comfort he had never thought possible.

"You'll be going away again." she muttered lowly ending her quiet tune.

"Ah."

The air had thickened in those moments. He could feel her desire to keep him here. He knows she holds fear should he not stay beside her. He knows she fears he will leave her just as her father has done. The words don't need to be spoken. She is still the woman who wore her heart upon her sleeve.

He cannot continue to stay with her. He cannot continue to stay upon the sidelines. Madara was planning much bigger things in the time to come, and he recognizes he should savior this as it would be a long while till he would return to her side.

Her fingers tightened in her lap as if it could quell her fear, "How long?" her voice did not waver as he almost thought it would.

"A while." she knew better than to expect a time frame.

Time was something never given. It was just assumed.

She gave a slight nod in understanding, and he questioned if she would speak out against it more. He questioned if she would vocally tell him of her fears. She did not though falling back within her hum and he allowed himself to gaze out to their cherry tree.

 _Do you disagree with our way of thinking?  
_ Her tune stopped once again as she lifted her head from his shoulder.

The ebony haired male had not meant to speak his thoughts. He had never intended to ever ask her such things. These were not things he wanted nor desired to hear come from her. Those ever glowing viridian gazed at him, "I do."

She had held no shame in her expressing it.

There was no hesitation.  
There was no second thought.  
This is where they would always diverge.

"I believe in a peace brought about by love." she said raising to her feet avoiding his gaze.

"Peace cannot be gained through such measures. Power is needed to bring it." his voice was even as he gazed at her back—the emblem of his people and the ideal in which they held still missing.

Her head seemed to tilt as she took in the sky above her. Those delicate fingers once wrapped in her lap—once wrapped in his clothing as she sobbed in their kitchen—coming behind her to lace themselves together, "Why do you continue to follow blindly at his call?"

The voice she had used was no longer soft.  
He refused to answer such a thing—he did not follow anyone blindly.

"Is there nothing that anchors you to this world or do you simply hope for it to kill you off before you see this peace you bring with power?"

 _Wasted moments full of potential atonement_.

"I do what I must because I am an avenger." even he feels like the response he gives is something of an excuse.

"You do what you must because it is how you excuse yourself." there is such a tightness in her voice—it makes it clear that this is very much the girl that time had forgot.

"What is the excuse that you cling to then _wife_? All of those craters upon the earth were—we all saw how you ravished the earth in Kusagakure."

 _Kusagakure bones_.

There was never an intention to be so aggressive—so gruff in his response—and yet his tone was clipped and as soon as the words left his mouth there was regret—such an overwhelming regret. How could he have said wife in such distaste? He had never felt the need to call her by her title. Yet, here he had—his eyes look fleetingly upon her back missing the emblem he held pride in. There was nothing to shield him in the way her eyes whipped to take in his own. That mouth of hers had opened to answer and yet it closed biting into her lower lip.

The regret doesn't fully hit home until it is too late—so, so late. She has reopened her mouth and it's here that he sees he is wrong once more. The girl that time forgot did not completely forget—this was a piece of the her before her father's death. Here it is clear that time was in fact remembering her.

"You—the Uchiha—and the Senju—both of you bring with you war. I choose to provide something far less in supply."

 _Tanigakure eyes_.

Sasuke cannot stop his face from decorating itself to her response. Those endless orbs have opened up from their residential scowl to give way to shock, and a subtle open mouth at her response. This is where that regret fully hits home. This is where he sees he's gone to far. He's said to much. He had been to outspoken. To be so disgusting—to be such a cruel human—and have the audacity to mention Kusagakure—to mention what made her all the more a victim of compromise.

He can only follow up her form noting the tightly closed fists that shake with her being as they make their way up her form—albeit unprepared—to see what is reflected in those eyes of hers—to the glassed over viridian.

Here is where he needs to apologize for his cruelty and yet—he doesn't because apologizing is not what he does—she has never given him more opportunity than now to do so and as much as he swore he would do better he is a selfish man who cannot it seems. As much as he had promised to protect her he cannot protect her from himself. He can only let out his anger at her claims that they were a group of people who brought war—the Senju were the one's who had brought war. He knows he's wrong, but it does nothing to stop him.

"If you disagree, dear _wife,_ then why are you here?"

There was so much venom on her status and he would pray later for answers as to why he was such an unbelievably cruel man. This woman did not deserve such things. This woman who had been doing everything she could did not deserve such things from him, of all people. Where had she spoken a lie? Where had she been wrong?

 _He did bring war with him_.

"If I could bring all of that pain you hide onto myself I would do so."

 _Konohagakure heart_.

There is an absolute cruelty to her voice. The promise that lingers in it is heavyhearted and he can only swallow in response. He had pushed her too far, and it's in this that he realizes that he would take the disdain that had once lingered in those viridian and hold its towards himself even more than when she had been sobbing in their kitchen.

He cannot stop her as she now walks past him leaving him in these moments, and reversing their roles once more since the time she had left before the fall of Kusagakure. That reflex that comes with her is on the tip of his tongue as she is leaving him. It's no apology, but it's laced with something he does not understand but hopes she will hear—maybe she will understand that which he does not. Before she can escape him it falls from his lips.

" _You really are damned annoying_."

Time had found her well before now.  
It was him who had forgotten her.

* * *

He has left her once more, and it is bitter sweet as she does her duty at the clinic. The spring wife can only question her inability to have contained her anger in their fight, and yet this fight did not rival that of the one they had held what felt so long ago—a distant memory. A distant memory like the time he had wrote her. A distant memory like when he had placed his hand in hers when she had welcomed him home. He had not wrote her since that time, but she knows that is just how he is.

Her mourning period has ended at fifty-two days. In the weeks following his leave she could not sit idly by. If there was one thing her father had taught her it was not to live in the past. She was needed. She had told her husband she had sought to give that which was less in supply. Her hands are what could stop another from becoming the mess she had become. The shame she had brought upon her home in those days of mourning needed fixed. The faith she had destroyed in her lack of control before her husband's leave needed to be mended properly by her own hands. He had been harsh with her status, yet she had continued farther pushing him just as much as he had pushed her.

That husband of hers was not one to apologize, and yet he gave the reflexive words that would bring forth the calm after a fight before she had left him sitting there that day.

 _You really are damned annoying_.

There was an almost ironic tenderness to the statement looking back on it now. What had once been an insult was becoming a reflex holding the subtlest changes with how he handled her. There was an increased warmth each time he uttered it to her that she was sure no one would catch outside of the two of them.

The days were long, and the weeks even longer as she continued to await his return. He had not been wrong. A month and a half had come and gone bringing forth a warmer sensation among the weather as months flipped by. Their cherry tree had scattered it's blossoms among the garden and her husband had missed it. Their anniversary had scattered to the wind just the same.

It was in these moments that she felt herself growing closer to him even as he was out of her grasp.

The tides of war were forever changing and as it seemed so was the company that would find her at the clinic today.

Viridian came to find the ebony she had come to expect, but the face attached to those eyes was one that seemed content on checking in on her, and her dear husband.

"Izuna-sama what brings you to me today?" she was sure this was not merely a social call as he sat in her section.

There was the slightest look as if he knew something upon those Uchiha features. There was the slightest of contemplation before he gave the slightest look of tenderness her way, "I apologize for coming without word. I'd like to speak with you in private when you are finished for the day."

She gives but the slightest of nods knowing this most likely had to do with her husband, and she lets the softest of smiles decorate her eyes and lips as she reaches out to give him a proper check up, "Of course, Izuna-sama."

The silence between them is comfortable as she pulls back the sleeves of her kimono going through the routine. He is cleared and yet she was sure he only had participated in the check up so as to get that request to her in person knowing she would be here for several hours.

The patients she sees after are a blur as doubt begins to settle in her stomach. There is a small voice in her head questioning if her husband has become hurt, and yet she battles it with the idea that he would not wait till her shift was completed to tell her of such things. She was allowing her father's death to rule her thoughts, and that could not be something she succumbed to. She had to move forward, and she had to not allow it to frighten her more than it already had.

 _No one could be that cruel_.

The light of day darkens as the hours wind down and she is sure she has never gazed upon the clock as much as she has in this one day. Fingers find there way into the band holding her hair at bay releasing them after the many hours they had been tamed.

She excuses herself earlier than usual intending to no longer keep him waiting on her than she has already made him. Finding him is easy, and she's thankful he has kept himself entertained. The walk to her home is quiet and neither begins their discussion until the doors are closed and they have made their way into the kitchen.

He has only come a handful of times since her marriage and yet she knows how he likes his tea. He is a simple man, and like wise his taste in his tea is just as simple. Her husband and him were the same in this way and not just in their looks. Finger tips cradle her own cup of tea sweetened with honey as she breathes in the scent.

"Sakura-san, I will do my best to make myself quick with the hour so late." polite and formal as usual, "Madara-san as asked me to see if you could lend your skills on the battlefield."

It's here that her viridian open. Her cup does not move from her lips as she looks to the Uchiha before her. There is the slightest disappointment that he had not come to her over her husband. There is then silent scolding. This was a good thing. This meant her husband was as well as one could expect while in the midst of war.

Her shoulders relax and roll themselves back as she lowers her cup, "I'm sorry to say that I have no intention of fighting in this war."

"Ah, that is fine we only wonder if you could perform medic relief."

Shifting her weight she leans against the cabinets, "I see no reason I cannot do such a request if that is all Madara-sama is asking for."

She would not follow blindly at Madara's call, but she also would not leave those who needed healing. He is sipping his tea as the silence has come back over them, and she in turn can only sip her own as she feels new questions forming. This was yet another chance for her to gain new information of her husband and what he was up too, "Is he well?"

"Ah, so Sasuke-san does not write you when he is away."

He is not mocking her and yet she feels almost slighted by the remark, "Will I be back before he returns?"

The shift in topic is in hopes to not bring forth more attention to her and Sasuke's lack of communication. It fills her with embarrassment to have someone else know that she is kept in the dark in times like these. She holds no resentment in his choice to not write her, and yet she longs for it more than she had before her father's death.

"He is well. He is doing exceptional as always." he states with the slightest humor.

At first she is silent as she digests the information, and then there is a sense of pride that decorates her already ethereal features. Warmth swims within her at the praise the man has given her husband, "I'm glad— _yes_ I am so glad."

He has given way to the slightest of smirks, and it's in this moment that she is sure that look is one that must be hereditary.

* * *

 **Author Note:**

It's been two weeks, and with that here's your next chapter. I admit I haven't gotten much done on my end where I'm at but that's because I've been using NaNoWriMo to do daily one-shots OTL If you're ever curious about progress be sure to look over on tumblr as I'm likely to post an excerpt of where I am progress wise (I've posted some for chapters 12-13). I was meaning to ask this last chapter but would you guys be interested in me making a small little fan album of all the music I've used to help me write this? There's a lot of music references actually throughout this and is actually what helps me progress through the story. It sets the mood I wanna write and I just kinda go from there.

On a random note, my dudes. We hit like 200+ follows! Like Jesus I seriously cannot thank you guys enough for your reviews, favorites, and follows! I am always so unprepared for them. itsendsmeintoscreechesandminorheartattacksifwe'rebeinghonest

On to reviews there wasn't a whole lot to specifically mention for guest reviewers (I might not be able to respond to you directly but do know that I thank you for reading!), but one person in particular had some really awesome questions about Sakura, and her perspective on Sasuke that I actually think is worth talking about.

So the first point they asked about is Sakura's characterization in this fic is on the line of saintly. That is actually done on purpose. I've written her description, and characterization like this to emphasis Sasuke's perspective of her. When I wrote the first twenty pages of this I originally never had Sakura's perspective at all. It was entirely from Sasuke's and was originally only intended to be from his point of view. A friend though mentioned that adding her in would not only set better pacing but give two different views and a clearer picture of her own actual thoughts about what's going on around her. In the last chapter she assisted in a strategy that helped him in battle which was meant to show the flaw in being devoted to ones spouse. She saved him and her people, but at the loss of those she had once known, and spent time with. It's the catch twenty-two. Do you let your husband come to harm, or do you harm others? I did this to present her own flaws and choices within her unconditional behavior.

The second point they asked about was Sakura's perception of Sasuke, and her considering him kind. The idea behind this was that kindness comes in many forms. Someone does not have to be kind to you in particular for them to be considered a kind individual. He is strict within his command, but he is a loved leader of his village for a reason. There's a chapter much further along where I actually have her citing every kind action he's done to her. A lot of the things that I remember placing in that chapter much further along are all very small and minor things that I think in the everyday world a lot of people take for granted or wouldn't think about as they are just expected. Sakura doesn't have expectations though. She walked into this with no preconceived notions, and so I feel that's why she'll notices those small and minor things.


	6. The Dream

x.x.x  
 **Chapter 6**  
The Dream

* * *

Traveling had come in the days since she had left his side. The journey to the camp she was to assist is far from home, and yet they had managed to arrive without resistance. Lands filled with sand had been avoided, and it's deep within the lush forests that they find the camp of medics in need of relief. She had not expected there to be such a lack of medics employed in the small camp she has been taken too. The situation is much graver than she could have imagined, and she displays no shame in taking control of what she sees before her. Madara had been pleased enough as it was that she went willingly to assist them.

Shinobi after shinobi make their way to and from her as she takes care of their wounds. There is a sense of belonging she feels within her as they come and go from her side. This was something she could do that her husband could not and it resonates so much with her beliefs that she could provide that which was low in supply in these trying times.

There is little fuss from those she assists, and there are many tales of the things these men, and children have seen that make her gaze decorate in somber hues for their struggles. These shinobi would need so much more than simple fingers mending their flesh in times to come. When she had first arrived there had been hesitance from the medics in following her lead, and there had been caution in those injured when she sought heal their wounds. It wasn't until days in that the tension that lingered within her command began to disappear within the air. The feelings dancing within caution brought trust in its place, and recognition of her skills.

The rotation she's set in place is flowing well and giving the already exhausted team of medics better chances of chakra restoration between shifts. There's the nods and the small smiles laced within their fatigue that remind her shes making the right choices, and right calls. There's gratitude from them, and in the same way she can only be sure to thank the medics for their hard work. Sakura chooses in these times of rest to seek out more medicinal plants. The stock was already low when she had arrived and it has only continued to lower with each injured shinobi.

The distance from the camp isn't far but is enough to put her just out of reach from the Uchiha meant to protect her. It has taken the gentlest of pushes to keep him within the camp than to have followed behind her. There's no doubt he only seeks to follow what he's been instructed, but he too needed rest. She comes across patches of motherswort, and with it she notes the appearance of another. There is the fear that comes with gazing upon another that is dressed in a cloak that hold the colors of Senju.

Fingers grip her basket tighter as she makes way to take shelter from the unknown. The male is gazing in her direction and it is obvious that she has been caught regardless of her efforts. There is the overwhelming fear of what she should say or do as she comes from around the tree. If she was forced to defend herself she can, and if she would have to it wouldn't be long before those within the camp would come to follow. It's the only thing that gives her relief from the subtle fear.

Coming out from her hiding there is something warm that over comes her in these moments. It is almost startling to have someone's presence feel so comforting.

"Hey there!"

Even his voice is warm. It's loud but undeniably warm. She is sure her husband would scold her as she lowers her own hood of cream. He holds bright blond hair, and startling vibrant azure eyes.

"Well you gonna say something or just stand there." he says teasingly.

Her viridian flutter at the large grin plastered across his face. Sakura manages to squeak out a reply in embarrassment "Hello!"

It's not soon after she learns his name, Naruto Uzumaki, and that he is a shinobi fighting against her husband, and clans ideals. The male is one of sun and bright outlooks. He seems to be looking for the same herb she has come for as well. He makes her laugh and she cannot help but fall into step with his playful antics, and comments. It's startling the contrast he was compared to that of her husband.

Even in her days of youth she is sure that she had never met someone quiet like Naruto. There is the slightest of stupidity she notes but it's not a bad thing. He is unbelievably passionate, and it's here she learns he wishes to lead the war to its end. He longs for Senju, and Uchiha to come together, and Uzumaki and Hyuuga to do the same. He's from Konohagakure, and will work hard to one day become their leader. The name of her birth place falling from his lips is bittersweet to her ears.

Would she have known him had her family stayed after her birth?  
Would they have been friends?  
Would they have been close?

Sakura can only shake her head at the thought. It's that warmth that radiates from his person that makes her sure they would have indeed been friends. There is a sense of wonder that fills her that maybe in another timeline—in another world—her husband and him would get along. Naruto seems to easily attract and she is sure husband would fall into it just the same.

"Sakura-chan, you know so much!" he is ecstatic as she explains the uses of motherswort after he has blown about not understanding why he had been sought to acquire it.

"More like you just didn't pay attention."

It's as she finishes up rooting and gathering that which they had sought that they now stand to look upon the other. She has avoided her last name choosing to give only her first when this had started. Unsure of what kind of response he would give should it leave her lips she had wished that he would not push for it. The question is there in those azure eyes though, and there is no doubt in her head that she will finally let it fall.

"Uchiha. Sakura Uchiha."

" _Uchiha_." those vibrant azure are wide as he utters it. The emotion it carries is one she is unsure of how to place. It isn't disdain, and it isn't hate, but it isn't trusting either.

There is silence as he registers it all, and then unexpectedly he gives but a simple shrug, "Stay safe alright, Sakura-chan!"

He is beaming at her again and she lets the shock decorate her as she takes in that comforting warmth that is so him, and so unlike anything she has known until this point.

He did not trust that much is certain, but he did not hate. He did not look upon her with the disdain she recalls within Senju territory. He does not shoulder the same hatred so many carry towards her last name.

He wished to bring the clans together, and longed to put an end to this war that had overstayed its welcome. There's hope that he will be able to make his wish a reality.

She, too, could ask for nothing more.

* * *

Summer brought with it a dry heat that warmed ones skin and bones. Sasuke Uchiha is finally home. His bones ache, and yet he feels a sense of longing to walk through the doors before him knowing, and feeling her presence just beyond this door. It takes no other thought to make his way through.

His eyes find her within seconds standing there as she usually is. He can't help but look upon her with the same familiar thoughts he had, had when he first looked upon her.

She is otherworldly.  
An absolute _nymph of spring_.  
An absolute contrast to the ebony strands, pupils, and pale complexion that are his hereditary makeup.

There is a glowing smile this time unlike their first encounter. There is tenderness in her gaze as she looks upon him welcoming him home, "Welcome home, Sasuke-kun."

He likes it when she says his name in such a way. A smirk plays upon his features in his simple response back "Hn."

She wastes no effort to make him comfortable. The maids are taking his things to give him reprieve of their weight as he makes his way out of the genkan as if he hopes to be wrapped up in all the things that she is.

There is the realization that she no longer wears the white on her arm, and the Uchiha crest is back to it's rightful place on her back. This only seems to bring forth a sense of pride in his exhausted state. Delicate fingers find his and he allows it wishing to have some form of comfort after their last dispute.

Sasuke is sure she has long since let it go, and it gives him relief in ways that he did not know he needed. There is a weight lifted in knowing she is not producing an apology, and that she is here greeting him without anger.

Those fingers of hers are leading him to their room as if he would not make it all on his own. They check him over, and linger upon his eyes. There are pinched brows upon her face, "Are you seeing correctly?"

There is a blink, and then another as the question registers in his slightly fogged mind, "Hn."

Blurred vision was something he was having on occasion and yet he felt no need to truly express this assuming it was simply lack of proper sleep.

Rose-colored strands are tickling his cheeks as she peers into his eyes enveloping him in her scent and closeness. He's watching the emotions run over her face. He notes the confusion, the worry, and the confirmation. Whatever it was she had been looking to find in his ebony has been found, and it's only moments later that he feels her fingers dance across his lids and bring them to a close as warmth enters him from their touch.

"Your sharingan is causing you eye strain—dry eyes, increased sensitivity to light, notable itching around the lids—" she is murmuring these things to herself, and it's as she rattles these things under her breath that he grasps her fingers resting upon his right eye.

"It's fine."

Sakura is quick to give him his way as he lets it be known in short exhausted laced words that he is tired and seeks to rest. The night is newly formed outside and yet he just desires the comfort of his bed. The night is long though as he is plagued with the terrors of his sleep. The terrors have slowly built themselves up to this point, and he wonders if his dear wife has noted them increasing over time. If she has she has yet to speak of such things—would she speak of such things or was it a topic she knew he would not openly speak of?

The terror behind his unconscious state is one he's found himself submerged within well before now. There's no explanation for why or when the floor of this unconscious world of dreams collapses underneath him. It's as it crumbles and he falls through that the panic, and the fear drag him down. They're wicked within their hold and they force him to accept his fate as their blades sink within his skin. The adrenaline that courses through him is not enough to make him numb to the blade that slides within his organs, nor the thick smell of copper that fills his nose. The twist of that blade only seeks to make him desperate in his attempts to reach and pull the blade lodged within his stomach, and yet he cannot move his limbs. The taunts, and the laughter throb within his ears as if to make his ear drums erupt. Teeth grind, and the gasp of air he takes as the blade has made its way through his body and into the earth below make his heartache at how weak he is in these moments—he had been weak too many times. He had lost many of his men because he had been too weak to stop those who sought to wipe them from the land. This is how he had lost Hikaku, and this is how he too would lose himself. The press of a foot upon his throat is enough to make him dive within heart failure—that Senju is but the one who looms over him with undeniable pleasure etched across his features.

His eyes break open in start he can feel his forehead and strands coated in sweat. The thundering of his heart is wild, and it's feeling the wild beats pulsing in his ears that brings forth the reality that he is indeed no longer in the dream world. Ebony pools shift from the ceiling before him and turn along with his head to look upon the rose-colored tresses that are strung about her sleeping form curled and facing him.

There is the slightest rise and fall of her chest that he finds himself unable to tear his eyes from. Was this not a product of what he fought for? He fought for the sake of peace—a peace brought from power so that those like this ethereal creature could sleep in bliss.

He finds himself sliding from her side knowing that sleep would not fall onto him so soon after having been brought from the terrors he had dreamed of. He's captured by her shift among her dreams settling to her back. Her fingers rest upon her waist and her mouth lay open as if to speak. Yes, this was but one of things he fought for.

Exiting the room he sat within the dead of night. Breathing in the earthly scent that was the outdoors and relishing within the quiet of the night brought hope in finding a sense of calm for the wild heart that still dared to break out of his chest in its startled state. He had long accepted that his deeds would eventually haunt him, and yet the ones that tended to bother him the most came from his failures, more than the cruel victories he performed upon his enemies. There is something bittersweet in wondering if his wife had felt been swallowed once upon a time within the terrors of her dreams. She had lost her father, and she had been taken in and pushed into a marriage of politics in this war. How would she gaze upon him within battle? What would she dream of in seeing his failures displayed before her? What would she feel as she watched him slice through the enemy with lightning in hand?

Would that disdain she had held within the start of their marriage return? Would she be pulled down from the peaceful sleep she laid within and dragged down into one that smelled of burning flesh, and nauseating copper? No—she dreamed of the things she felt only she could bring. She was the one healing, and mending—those deeds of warmth that she provided surely protected her from the darkness of war. There is no use wandering within the possibilities. She slept dancing in dreams of peace, and that is but a sign that he was making the world a better place—each body he had sliced through brought this upon them all.

The last few months away had begun to erode his sense of stability. He knew this well before now, and yet he would dare not utter a complaint. Sleep was not something he had ever managed to successfully obtain after his parent's death, and yet he had his mix of good nights where sleep would be kind enough to not plague him with nightmares.

There was the slightest of fogs upon his gaze forcing him to pinch the bridge of his nose. The throbbing that comes with it is a dull ache and one he assumes will grow. Opening his ebony he gazes upon the flourished garden that he had learned to seek comfort from. Yet the pain beckons him to close his windows once more.

It's then that he feels delicate soft digits wrap around his eyes. He stiffens taking in her floral scent as her body presses against his—she's always creating a certain level of closeness between them. Those fingers of her are laced upon his face, but are not heavy.

 _When had she risen, and when had he failed to hear her coming_?

She says nothing as she removes her fingers. It's then when he opens his eyes there is no pain to force him to close them. The tilting of his head gives him the chance to catch her as she disappears from his sight.

A deep inhale of breath, and a gaze at his cherry tree graces him, and it's here that he finds the calm soaking him to the bone. The light that spills from the moon is only out done by the fireflies that glow of their own accord. He had missed the bloom of his cherry tree, and he had missed the scatter of it's petals—they bloomed so pretty but were gone so soon.

There is a hand upon his shoulder moments later and his stiffness has returned. Disoriented is his only excuse for his lack of awareness of her. A cup has been set next to him.

A yawn, and the slightest of smiles is hinted in her tone, "Chamomile."

Sasuke can only respond in silence as his fingers find themselves around the cup and take ahold of it enjoying the slight burning sensation that overcomes his palms. The warmth is soothing just like her and her abilities as a medic.

This time he is aware of her as she heads back inside to find comfort in their bed.

* * *

There is the oddest of sensations filling him, and he decides if that sensation was to hold a name—a title of sorts—it would be labeled as being irked. Light steps are in front of him as he walks with his eyes upon her to their gates. At no point had he ever received word that she had started to perform medic relief in the war. It brings forth distaste that she would have ever agreed to such behaviors.

The deep rich red cheongsam adorns her but there is the oddest of assurances in the back of his mind that she is wearing the Uchiha crest upon her back hidden by her cream cloak. This woman believed in a peace brought about by love, and yet here she was aiding the side that disagreed with that belief. It's completely contradictory and yet he knows nothing done within war was ever so simple.

The otherworldly creature was truly a paradox.

Sasuke finds he does not like the idea of her stepping outside of the protection of his home or his side after what had befallen her the last time he had seen her off and it's with that, that he had reasoned he needed to see her out to the gates.

His mind is littered with other thoughts along the way and there are no words expressed between them. When she left his side would she hear of the stories that haunted his dreams? Would she come home to have newly placed disdain in her glowing ocular windows?

He scoffs at the notion knowing his wife had known all to well the stories.

He's not sure at what point his wife had become out of his grasp and he was left standing to watch her disappear from his sight. He had long since slipped his hands inside his sleeves, and there was the faintest recollection of her saying goodbye. Did he imagine it when she had offhandedly mentioned where the chamomile tea was located?

 _She was so utterly damn annoying_.

The blur of the world does not become obvious until he hears his name called and he is sitting among others. Madara has said his name finally grasping his attention and he cannot stop the decoration of subtle confusion on his face.

There is humor in the older male's voice, but before continuing on it only furthers to plunge his thoughts to her. Those words months ago ringing within his being as he recalls their disagreement in ideologies.

This causes his brows to pinch together. Did she really think that he blindly followed any who would call upon him? Swallowing thickly the ebony haired male could only feel the edge of irritation beginning to bubble forth at the memory. There's a hiss that is desperate to fall within the base of his neck—she thought him too weak to lead, and she thought him to be that of a sheep. He was no sheep. He would not be herded by an individual even if it was Madara Uchiha. He decided what he did, and he decided where to turn next. He was the one controlling what he did.

Sakura Uchiha, was no good for him.

She made him contemplate far too much, and far too often. This woman left him troubled in her absence, and it seemed he only felt at ease when she was there next to him where his eyes could catch the occasional glimpse of her.

"Your charming wife is very much becoming talk among the medics for her prowess."

That right _there_.  
That _sentiment_ right there.  
 _That_ is what catches his attention.

"Ah." he feels the need to swallow thickly again as the comment is a hint they had caught his thoughts upon her.

"It seems she's become more convenient with time." his leader's words make his ebony gaze fall upon him, "The more I see of what she can do the more I find myself impressed. Especially after hearing the tales of Kusagakure."

Brows have become narrowed.  
Impressed is what this man felt when his wife had fallen into despair?  
Impressed is what this man felt when she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

He feels a sense to defender her suddenly—defender her from what he doesn't know, and in the same breath he feels absolutely bewitched by her in the way those in his clan, and civilians were.

Bewildered is what he feels now as talk of his wife is throughout the room, and then he feels all their eyes upon him. What had this woman done to them in the time she was there—the year she had— _oh,_ _that had come hadn't it?_ _—_ he had missed something absolutely vital and it was spiraling in his being all at once.

 _Their anniversary_.  
It had come and gone without a single though—she had said nothing.

"You seem troubled, Sasuke-san?" Madara's cool voice catches his ears.

Hesitation.  
Sudden realization.

There he goes again swallowing down something that he is sure is guilt. Madara though would only receive a shake of his head.

It's when all have left but Madara that it becomes clear that there was more to discuss and he is finding himself soaked in an uncomfortable essence that lingers upon his chest. There is a sudden tenseness in the air, and the older Uchiha has his arms crossed as they share a momentary gaze. He wonders what more the male is tending to ask from him. He provided all that he could, and this man evidently had even more plans.

It's in the air moments later—Madara was never one to beat around the bush. It's with those words that he finds himself—finally—no longer swallowing thickly, and instead sucking in a sharp breath. He's unsure if it had been audible, and if it had Madara gives no inclination to such.

 _He asked him what_?  
 _He expected him to do what_?

There was no need for surprise. Hadn't he always known this was something Madara intended? It's here now that he knows he needs to choose his words carefully. Madara was not one to trifle with. His tongue slides across the front of his teeth as if tasting the words to understand what is now filling his home.

He knew this was another moment in which he would be a part of politics. He knew that his marriage was arranged from the same tree—how could he have forgotten after seeing the Senju that longed for her on the battlefield?

Sasuke feels the walls closing in on him, and those irritating, disgusting, and revolting words spilled only moments ago only seek to ring his wife's words he craved to deny— _Why do you continue to follow blindly at his call_?

There is a growl threatening to spill from him. It is rising in his throat, and he feel his anger flushing his pale complexion bringing it to a new hue. Teeth are grinding in attempts to restrain his desire to vocally decline such a thing.

 _I've found you a suitable Uchiha woman to produce an heir_.

* * *

It's in the air around her and she can feel their eyes, and yet she's unable to make out what the words are that surround her. The night is young, and her relief for the day has come to give her rest after a long day of healing, and mending.

The camp ground had been welcoming and she is blessed that her escort and guard is as well known as her husband. That welcoming atmosphere had seemed to disintegrate over the recent days though, and for why or what she did not know. There was the slightest desperation to hear that which they did not want her to hear. The muffled noises made her ears perk with all the curiosity and desire of a child.

Her attention shifts though from the interest of whispers to that of her guard. Shisui Uchiha was not as she had thought he'd been when she had first met him. The traits and personality type she had begun to believe were hereditary did not seem to hold its reins upon him. That humble and down-to-earth behavior is what had made it easy for them to travel together. In these days though there seemed to be a certain understanding he held for looks, and voices that dared not to let her know what buzzed around her. He did not seem to desire to share the knowledge he had of such things.

It's as he's handing her a plate of food that they share smiles, and silent looks. This silence that rains between the pair is muffled out by the same eyes, and words she cannot make out. Sakura is sure it decorates her face, and yet she can only find herself becoming more and more curious as she tries to listen.

"They're making sure you cannot hear." his voice is soothing and brings her attention back to the plate heating her lap.

It only makes her press her lips firmly at the obvious, "And you have no intention to tell me?" there is a teasing tone as she speaks the words that hold truth.

"I do not think it is my place, Sakura-san."

This makes her bite her lip but press forward, "Will our return be soon?"

This is what makes him stop mid bite only to resume, "Yes. Missing Sasuke-san?" now he's teasing her, and the light rose-colored hue of her hair finds itself painting her cheeks. Fluttered rose-colored lashes—her eyeliner and makeup tucked away at home— seek to disperse such a reaction.

Would it be wrong to say there was longing to look upon her war torn husband? She can only blow softly upon her food before giving way to the softest of smiles.

The food is what preoccupies them from then on before they settle in for the night. Her mind is reeling over the unknown, and t's not until deep within the following day when the person who sits before her is all too familiar, and all too loud that she finds herself distracted from her curiosity.

The man that is with him is one she cannot remember seeing before now. His hair is of a color that reminds her of flames with it's orange hues that make her pale rose-colored strands seem so ordinary, "Hey pinky look at you providing relief! How's dark and brooding?"

The humor he gives away is contagious, "Last time I'd seen him he had been well." playfulness echoes from her smile as she starts his check up.

"Oh? So you haven't heard?" he is grinning with all the pride of a predator about to take down his prey.

The yet to speak male turns his attention to them. His voice is deeper than expected and holds a touch of gentleness she didn't know was possible with features so strong, "I do not think Sasuke-san would like you speaking on his behalf."

"What?" she speaks firm but commanding—she is no longer willing to be left out.

There is almost a sickening glee in the lavender that look upon her, and it's here that she regrets her commanding request. There is cruelty to be had in whatever is about to be spoken and there is fear within her heart. Her mind is racing, and whatever it is that is about to fall from the pale leaded haired male is sure to be something she does not want to hear.

The words leave his mouth, and she feels herself stop breathing—no she's simply forgotten how to. It's as though the world has stopped spinning with what hangs in the air. His words had shell shocked her entirety and she can only equate what they've done to her to that of water, icy and chilled, poured across her skin. Viridian are burning as they glass over, and it's here that she's looking to the male of fiery orange hair as if this will confirm if the words are true or false. It's with his closed eyes, and the firm press of his lips that give way to the reality that Suigetsu had stated what he thought to be ridiculous. Those words were legitimate, though. These were the whispers that had surrounded her.

There is a moment of silence. It's long and it's thick within the room, and she almost expects Suigetsu to start laughing—she expects them all to laugh in her face. There was fear he was hurt when this conversation started, and fear that something like illness had overtaken him in her time away, and then there was this.

Regret didn't begin to express what it was that was filling her. It would have been better to have remained in the dark.

Swallowing thickly is all she can manage as she tries in her best of efforts to redecorate her face from the pathetic look that has painted itself for the males in front of her to see. She is out of her chair and stepping away from them in an attempt to gain some form of composure.

Never had Sasuke made promises.  
Never had Sasuke ever gave any word of affection.  
Their union was purely politics, and this too was another moment in politics.

"Pinky?" his voice has the most uncharacteristic concern she's ever heard.

There is the shudder of a breath, and she can only beg to keep her tears from spilling over—and it almost seems so impossible. He does not need a wife who gives way to tears. He needs an anchor and maybe this would give him one—and maybe she was never meant to be that anchor.

Sakura is sure this is punishment—she had not looked at him as a man, and she had held the cruelest of expectations.

Fingers are curling and uncurling as if that would stop the tears that threaten to spill forward. It's with a deep inhale that she chants for composure.

The smile she gives is of cheap quality, and it's with all the stubbornness she was born with that she keeps it from cracking and giving way as she turns to them, "Do you have anything in particular you would like me to look over as we go through the check up?"

The quiet that comes from the males is stiff as if they can't comprehend what she has said. It's Suigetsu who raises from his seat. He's no longer grinning—he's almost looks as though he regrets it more than she regrets ever having thought her husband was cruel—he's just providing the shake of his head to finally answer her.

It's obvious he thinks he's gone too far. His face gives it all away. She's sure he meant no true malice. He was one to tease her husband not speak ill—only this was not something she could find humor in.

* * *

 **Author Note:**

So true story time. When I was writing this I actually was on discord with a buddy and we were discussing everything up until this point and I just stopped for a moment, and was like 'Ya know. I've been dragging this other woman thing out forever. I should probably get that shit going'. Like this whole possible other woman thing at one point was seriously an after thought. She screeched my name in my ear over how I just brushed that shit off. Ah, I'm such a shitlord. Good times though, definitely good times.

As always thanks to everyone who likes, reviews, and reads this. It seriously surprises me every time how many of you take the time to do any and all of these things. It legit gives me the feels.

To that guest reviewer wanting to call 911 on Maddy. My dude, I was losing my shit when I got the e-mail about your review. Seriously. Awesome review I loved it haha. You'll never take me an Maddy alive though lol.

At the one about liking Izuna-I am so goddamn with you. Like let me hug that Uchiha boi for real.

For the guest asking about Tajima ehhh well. He takes like a _real back seat role_. You could say he's retired? He won't be a big contender in what follows. I will confirm though Tajima in his own rights was a cruel father, and leader before Madara took over. He is deep within the belief that if the Senju were killed off the world would be a better place, and that in war words hold no place.

On the question of ages-In this fic this will probably from ages 18-25? Sakura in the following year is nearing her 20th birthday so in this chapter she's 19. It's not really a spoiler so I have no problems telling you that. I truthfully haven't decided if Sasuke is older or younger. I never thought that kind of stuff out. I probably should. Eyyyyy. #failure There is some stuff I purposely left out (that surprisingly no one has asked about), but age wise I just knew they would be over 18. In this exact moment I'm gonna say Sakura is 19 in this chapter, and Sasuke is 20.


	7. The Divine

x.x.x

 **Chapter 7**  
The Divine

* * *

There is a scream and a cry of anguish that echos within his home that makes all not present go deathly quiet. Deep rich red gaze upon the arm he has just snapped in his anger at the words that he has just heard. This male had thought it was his place to speak of such things to _his wife,_ and this male thought it would be wise to speak of matters that held no concern of his. His roughen fingers tighten around the windpipe threatening to snap it like a twig. Pants of sharp breathes of pain are what flow from the man within his grasp pinned to his out of bloom cherry tree.

"Sasuke, listen—" he's practically begging with what little air he's been granted.

He slams the loud mouth with no remorse against its bark splattering it with blood that has come forth from the bone he had snapped, and the crack of this males head against the bark in his lividity. There was no quelling this with simple begging. He had warned him already— _he would see now his warning was not for show._

There is the lightest of steps coming from down the hall, and he does not care to take notice of them making their way to where he is currently giving way to punishment. He does not care who ente—

"Sasuke-kun?"

His breath is caught in his throat as all who are present for the discipline look to follow the voice who dares to call out to him. Wide doe-eyes and glowing viridian are locked upon the scene before her. He barely notes the Uchiha beside her, who can only show forth his own shock. She is rushing to him and he has no clue how she has gotten to him so fast wrapping her hand around his that threatens to snap the loud mouth's throat.

"Sasuke-kun, stop! Let him go!" she is desperate in her pleas to release the man who had dared to spill Madara's intentions, " _Please,_ Sasuke-kun."

His fingers can only obey her at the way she pleaded, and it's with that, that Suigetsu is released from his hold and dropped to the ground letting out another cry. She is quick to dirty her knees and tend to the injuries he's inflicted. He barely registers the Uchiha who had accompanied her on her travels, and brought her back to his home.

"Sasuke-san, what happened?" there is no stopping the heart stopping deep rich red that find their way to the fellow Uchiha. His lividity has not been quelled— _no it's only been shaken by her presence_. He does not need to see it to believe that she had, too, been shaken by the politics at play. He does not need to see it to believe her lip quivered or that the shock danced across those viridian when this male had slipped and spoken of such. It would have harmed her— _she had been harmed enough_.

"Shisui-san— _no_ —anyone at all, please grab a maid I need more medical supplies."

There are footsteps, and with every breath that she's taking, and with every command she is giving he feels her shaking his lividity even more. Every press of those fingers, and every glow that comes from them in her attempt to set the bone back within the skin only seeks to send tremors throughout his being. It is her being that seeks to quell the anger, hot and pulsing throughout his heart. It's whispering for calm and its whispering to find solace with her within arms reach.

It's not until it's late into the night after she has finished mending, and healing that she is seeing Shisui out the door— _he should be beside her doing the same_. He's finally reined in the absolute raw anger that had poured from him. It had been threatening to spill since the words had left Madara's mouth and it had only taken word that she had been told to make them spill over into the scene this afternoon. Even within its now controlled state he could feel it bubble within the bottom of his stomach fiery and ready to be released once more at a moment's notice.

Suigetsu has been resigned to a guest room. There is exhaustion around her eyes. There is a sluggishness to her movements. There is the smallest yawn that falls from her as she has made her way back to him and the others with tea. She sits beside him with only the exhaustion hesitating her movements. She is performing her role of wife.

 _It's as if she was not told_.

The silence is only interrupted by the sound of her voice. He doesn't know what to say, or what to do. Then he sees those ever glowing viridian, and the warmest of smiles on her face looking at him.

He would say nothing. There was nothing to say.  
He was undeniably the _cruelest_ of men to treat this woman in such a way.

"Sasuke-san, I think it would be wise to postpone this until Suigetsu is well enough to participate." he is hesitant in his suggestion.

Sasuke gives forth a nod in agreement, "Juugo. Karin. I will send word."

The rose-colored nymph is preparing to rise, and he cannot explain why he has stopped her with his hand on her shoulder. There is a look between them, and the smallest of exhales that comes from her mouth before giving forth the smile that has displayed itself since her return. It's painstakingly exhausted and yet she lets it decorate her face with warmth. It is not the look she should have painted upon her face. It is not the look she should give in his direction. None of this is what she should give to him.

Giving his farewells are quick, and as he finds her nestled into the futon already having not waited for him It's all the more meticulous how much fatigue has washed over her. There are whispers within him that say it's his fault—she would have been tired from travel but not exhausted if she had not healed the broken bone of the pale leaden haired male he had caused. Those whispers seek to fester that anger so hot and so destructive—all It would take is a moment's notice to have it once more erupt throughout his being.

"Come to bed, Sasuke-kun, you must be tired." her voice is weak and it makes his fists curl as his chest begins to burn.

There is the urge to scream at her— _he won't though_. He's done enough of that today, and it's in attempt to maintain control that he changes for bed and climbs in beside her—this time refusing to face anywhere but her. Her back is turned to him and he wonders if this is punishment for forgetting their anniversary, or even more rightfully so his display earlier— _no it's punishment at the idea he might bed someone without her title of wife_. He knows a fire burns as violent within this woman as it does within himself. He would not believe anything other. He would not dare to let himself fall within the belief that she is this _submissive_.

Sitting up roughen fingers reach out to her at that thought gripping her shoulder once more tonight to force her to turn to him. There is surprise at his unexpected action, and ebony can't help but search for some of the disdain in her eyes that had not been present in months. He deserves her anger, he deserves to have her throw a tantrum, and he deserves to have her curse him— _he deserves it all_.

Sasuke reminds himself that he had wished to give more to this marriage. He could not look upon the spring wife that had fallen out of his grasp again.

 _Would she fall out of his grasp once more with those fingers desperately tangled into her hair and tears spilling forth in their anguish_?

In her time away everything brought thought of her with it. It plagued him with thoughts of rose-colored strands, pale purple seals, glowing viridian ocular windows, and milky unblemished skin. This woman had, with no doubt in his mind, bewitched him—she had committed the act _well_ before now.

Emotions decorate her easily as they always have from surprise, to uncertainty, to worry—she's worrying when she should be furious. She should be screaming and she should be spilling venom from her lips. She should be demanding and she should be _cruel_.

"Sasuke-kun, what's wrong? Do you need chamomile tea?" her voice is laced in such unwarranted concern for his behalf.

Silence is all he provides as an answer. It's all he's ever provided her. Those soft digits are rising, and he feels the smallest of longing in hope that she'll run them through his hair as she always has to give him comfort— _god help him_ —he is _selfish_. He is so _unforgivably selfish_.

The spring nymph does exactly what he longs for without being told. There is the briefest of touches to his cheek before running her digits through his hair giving forth comfort and solace. He longs for her to do so many cruel things in return for his proposed adultery, and yet he also needs her to comfort his desire to erupt. He needs her to quell this feeling so hot and hostile. He needs to feel as though she understands his position and what has been asked of him even if he, too, does no understand it.

There is the pull of her shoulder to make her lay towards him as he finally lays his head down. Roughen fingers finally leave her form getting what he had not known he had sought from her—he wants that comfort she provides so easily. His eyes watch the stretch of her features as she lets out another yawn for the night settling to lay on her side. Those fingers of hers continue to give forth their soothing rubs to his scalp making him begin to give way to the lull that is her breathing, and the comfort her fingers provide.

She is comforting his selfishness and she is providing the quell of his lividity that lingers deep and scorching within his body. She is settling it and putting it to rest.

She is sending the anger so deep seeded from his being.

* * *

Sakura will not question him.

That was the promise she had made to herself back in the camp. There was no use in doing so, and in the same notion that is not what she wanted. She did not want him to reconfirm what would essentially be politically planned unfaithfulness. He had never guaranteed his faithfulness to start, and even if he had she would not make him do so. This man needed an anchor to this world, and maybe the Uchiha woman selected would be able to provide that with children—he could look proudly upon with their ebony locks, and ebony eyes.

It's in this that she has continued to provide a smile at every chance, and every moment provided since her return home. There was no explanation provided for his assault upon the pale leaden haired man, and just like with the probably adultery that would occur in their marriage she would not question that either.

The whispers that lingered through the air, while heavy upon her shoulder, are ignored. This would not stop her from continuing down the path laid before her. It's with this that she makes her way to the training grounds in hopes to provide him with lunch.

There is no denying the seed of bitterness that has taken root within her. It seeks to blossom within her resolve something so unkind and so desperate. She would not water it. She would not let it shake her being out within the open. She would cut it down even as it continued to mock, and tease her for not being what he needs. She would loathe herself for such _weakness_.

Civilians, children, and clansmen that she passes do so with smiles decorating their faces, and she can only return them back maintaining the status quo. Her mother had spoken of her stubbornness and her mother had not been wrong. She was stubborn in all that she did. When she had set her mind to something she would not rest until it had been obtained. She would find him an anchor to this world— _even if it was not her_. She would not let the flower of selfishness keep her from pushing through her. She would not let herself stray and she would not let it coax her into the world of rancorous territory.

The petulant vines could constrict her heart, and take the air from her lungs, but it would not dare flow from her being in his presence.

It's as she comes upon him in the heat of training that she feels pride swell in her heart. He is unbelievable in all that he does. There is a certain grace to his movements—hadn't they always been—and accuracy that was far beyond his years. He is the Guan Yu of his time—a god of war. The flames that are produced in his inhalation are grand, and burn bright. He is faster than her eyes can keep up with—gone one moment, and reappearing the next so much like their life together.

 _Yes, that's one of the many reasons she would not trouble him with her selfishness_.

The smile that plays across her lips is genuine. He has pinned his opponent—hadn't Sasuke refereed to him as Juugo?

"Sasuke-kun!" her voice is light in her call to him grabbing his attention.

Those eyes deep in rich red are what fall upon her as he maintains his pin, and again there is no fear that finds it's way through her being. He hasn't expected her and he seems almost unsure, almost uncertain in her presence at the training ground, but he relaxes in his stiffness and finally relieves the male of fiery orange hued locks from his defeat.

Soft steps is what she takes as she holds up the boxed lunch she has prepared him. He is gazing onto it with lips pressed firmly before taking them to her viridian. It's in the blink of an eye and those deep rich reds are no longer what gazes upon her are instead that of ebony.

He says nothing as he takes it from her hands. She has expected the wordless appreciation. It's enough that he appreciates it, and she even still would not have asked for the appreciation. There is a tension between them she cannot place, or find cause for, but she still smiles in earnest. This is what she could and would continue to give.

"Magu."

The name catches her off guard taking in the almost burnt orange hues that look to her. Her husband has been caught off guard just as she has. She knows of the tales that come with that name. They were widely taught, and known throughout her culture. There is wonder within her at someone speaking of one of her many gods.

"You remind me of the tales that speak of Magu." his voice is as deep, and almost gentle as she remembers it.

"Ah, but I am not an elixir of life, a sovereign, or the spring we feel within the months early in the year." she can only produce the softest of laughs at his words before reciting that in which she was told often as a child, "Her hair was done up, and several loose strands hung down to her waist. Her gown had a pattern of colors, but it was not woven; it shimmered, dazzling the eyes, and it was not of this world."

Juugo only shakes his head, "Forgive me, Sakura-sama—I did not mean to offend."

It's his earnestness that forces her fingers to her lips to stop the laughs that wished to find release, "You have not offended. It is a compliment if anything." she assures him with a glowing smile.

The clinic is what she preoccupies her time with after dismissing herself from her husbands eyes. There are many to help, and many to save today. The word of a harsh defeat is carried within those that have come for first aid. These men, and children strive to do all that they could, and it had seemed to slip through the fingers.

She could not provide for them what they truly needed. Mending the flesh, and healing the sore was easy, but gluing the mind back together after having their pride torn asunder was another thing entirely. The mental strain, the eye strain, the aches, and pains in which these people felt were all too often, and all too great, and yet there would be no salvation as war continued through out their lands.

Somber notions and mindset is what comes over her in the realization that maybe what she provided was not enough. Seeking to provide what was far less in supply was the role she had taken with great care. It was what had pushed her to succeed in healing, and yet these people needed more. These children of war were to be the next generation, and with them they carried scars unseen from the eyes.

It's within her return though that she finds him reading at the chabudai. The maids have taken his plate and cleaned for her in her time away as she lost herself in the hours at the clinic. Those ebony she had longed to see when away have moved to look her over. He has not shifted nor turned his head to her, and it's as she makes her way to the table that she feels those ebony following her.

Stillness has come over her realizing he is gauging her, studying her, digesting her presence. Sakura can only wonder what he is looking for, and what he is hoping to find as he gazes over his book in such lackadaisical manner—those roughened fingers cup his face as he leans upon the chabudai. It's not until the maid has brought their tea for the night, and left them alone that he finally places the book down leaving it upon where he stopped. The curling of fingers upon it's worn spine showcase what she can only imagine is hesitation.

There is a shift of his eyes, "Who is Magu?"

Thick lashes flutter, and questions of if she heard him correctly come, but it provokes a curiosity within her. She answers with such curiosity leading her, "She was an immortal and divine being who was seen as a guardian of vitality. Her youth, and beauty were thought of as symbols of health, and healing in the universe in which she protects."

There is no response to her explanation at first which makes her feel the need to give more information in nervousness. Viridian are cast onto the chabudai as she rambles, "—It was thought that she would cast aside the winter in favor of flora and fauna."

She hears the subtle hum of his voice as he now chooses to answer. Viridian are pulled by the sound making her gaze in wonder, "Ah, so you _are_ like this Magu."

His voice says it so straight forward as if there is no debate, and no room for question. Her cheeks feel warmth spread throughout them and she can only guess that they have taken on a hue similar to the pale strands that spill from her head. The somberness she had returned home with is washed away by this one statement. The constant constriction the petulant vines have caused her heart dare to weaken. She knows not to be fooled into believing it to be affection—yet she cannot help but entertain it, maybe even wish it as such.

Her mouth cannot contain a genuine smile for the second time today. It illuminates her features spreading to her viridian, and it brings with it a hand clasped upon her chest as if to keep some of the enchantment she feels at bay.

* * *

The cool air that comes within the change of season is what fills his days, and subdues the warmth that summer brought. Those delicate fingers of hers are assisting him with his wrappings, and she utters no word as the smile he had determined weeks ago to be a mask paints across her face. There are occasional flutters of pale rose-colored lashes blackened with makeup stealing glances upon his face as she performs this repetitious task.

Her locks are tied in loose condition behind her, and her wear for the day is a simple cheongsam of deep dark blues. The roughened tips of his fingers are treated with care as she holds them lacing the wrap between his fingers. The genuine smiles she would provide throughout the days since her return are there, but it is in these moments that he knows she is doing her best to maintain herself as if hiding from him all that she feels.

She did not question him as he thought she would. The act of playing the naive seemed to be the spring nymph's goal, and while at first he had been fooled with her act it was not long into her display that he knew it to be a lie. How this woman could not question him of the proposed adultery he was meant to commit he did not understand. At first it had made him choleric, but as with everything that happened in their marriage he would do nothing to stop her performance.

Inhalation.

It's that simple task that allows him to breathing in her floral scent that lingers with the familiar earthy fragrance of fall. Autopilot keeps him disengaged as he feels the hours, minutes, and seconds tick away from the time she has left their home. His company—Juugo, Karin, and Suigetsu are barely noticed, and barely maintains his attention. Plans placed in the open. Agreements made.

This woman has completely captured him within that world of hers once more, and he finds himself just as before unable to break her hold on his attention. He can hardly react to the flirtation that comes from Karin outside of placing a hand to keep the distance between them. Comparing her to his spring nymph of a wife is all that he can do when his eyes land upon the woman— _her locks are not of pale rose-colored strands but instead that of vibrant scarlet_.

The otherworldly woman was haunting his home, and all that he sees. She had done so before, and even now when she is within his grasp she continues to do so. He is unable to realize when maids have come to serve them, and when they discuss the finer details that echo throughout the room. Her scent clung to the walls of his home, and the wraps she had put such care into placing upon his being. It's intoxicating and unable to be dispelled.

 _Is this what had possessed that Senju_?

Was that man entangled in the world that she unknowingly provided? Had he attempted to escape her only to find himself wrapped within and locked by viridian eyes? Did her scent hang in the air he frequented? Is this what possessed him to feel so robbed? What spell did she cast upon men of war? Was this genjutsu— _of course, it wasn't_.

This loss of reality served to only provide sudden vexation. The mood swings that come through the stand still he feels encased within is heavy upon his lungs. It's as the sun begins its descend that he is walking his comrades to the village gates. The decision to execute their mission after Shubun No Hi finalized— _when was the last time he had visited his mother and father's graves to give proper prayer_?

Scowling had always been a common expression of his and he feels it setting deeper than normal as his fingers tug upon his fringe. His company stops at his halt not far from the gates. Their ocular windows fall upon him in ambiguity, and yet he cannot find himself among them. He is trapped with no lock and no key—no way out of this encasing.

"Sasuke-san?" Juugo's voice is gentle as if trying to bring him to the present.

A response is all he needs to make to bring him to that present state and yet he cannot find one to give. It makes him pull just a bit more upon his fringe in contemplation at what he was becoming, and what she was turning him into. He knows that she is the cause of this, and the vexation that comes is one that begs for release upon the ethereal woman.

There is the softest of laughs, and the noises of children. There is him finally taking his ebony from the ground before him to the sounds, and then there she is with her viridian focused upon the village children. The children have clung to her with the woven basket nestled upon her arm, and he feels time speed up as if to crash upon him and knock the wind from his lungs. Ebony ocular windows have widened and locked in mystification at seeing her enter their village. He knows his mouth has opened and that his pull upon his hair has slackened. There is the mental note to wash the look of bewilderment from his features—he cannot find the power to do it.

Sasuke looks and sees her eyes _._

 _They glow_.

She has settled to pick up one of the children—the child is an Uchiha there is no question even from this far. The scene is one he feels is beyond the span of reality, and it looks to show him the impossibility. Possibilities he could not have.

 _And yet it looks so possible—painstakingly possible_.

Madara and the Uchiha woman he had picked would forever keep this from becoming a reality.  
 _They would never allow such possibilities_.

She has noticed him, and her face is turning to him. It's as if the world wants to make sure he memorizes it. Time is slowed once more with this everyday movement making it elegant. He had not realized something else could quake his being with whispers outside of war, he had not realized his eyes could widen to such lengths as if blinking would make him miss it, and he had not realized that his hand has left his hair to hesitate in the air seemingly towards her.

"Sasuke-kun!"

This nymph of spring is beaming with the widest of smiles—it's not fake nor an act. There is an indescribable genuineness to this emotion that decorates her so vividly before him. He cannot gather if it is joy, or adoration. He cannot gather if this is happiness painted onto her being. She is running towards them with children trailing her path, and he's once again feeling time regain its normal pace forcing him to remember how to breath. Ebony flutter for only moments seeing the pale leaden haired male, fiery orange hued haired male, and vibrant scarlet haired woman captured by her. All of them are looking to her.

His foot shuffles back as if to create distance. She is too close. She is creating closeness. She is swallowing him up. She had always been ethereal, otherworldly, and exotic. Holding a child of Uchiha blood only manages to expand her unearthly territories.

 _There is fear_.  
Sasuke Uchiha is scared.

He is retracting his hand to his side as if touching her will bring him fear beyond what he already has. The eyes of his comrades have found him again as she stands before him with the children circling her and the one upon her arm hugging that neck of hers that he just now realizes is delicate and thin.

The swell of something—he thinks it might just be pride—is heavy on his chest now. The once retracted fingers have raised once again and press upon the small child's back that bears the Uchiha crest in its bright whites, and deep rich reds. He wants to blame her for his step forward to bring him closer to her as he looks down upon those glowing viridian to see what is held in them.

No—it's not her who has created this closeness.  
 _It's him_.

"I'm home." her voice is the barest of whispers.

The momentary silence is not deafening, and is only but a second before the words tumble from his lips.

 _Welcome home_.

* * *

The time for Shubun no Hi is upon them, and it's just as foreign as it had been in the previous year. This year is different though—this year he is with her to clean his mother and father's plots of their weeds, and bring forth flowers to offer upon their proper prayers. All around them is in spirit to bring forth the fall season and hope for good harvest.

He seems to not mind his busy schedule throughout this time, and it's here that she notes that he is diligent in being the leader his people need. The work ethic he has is not one she ever questioned, but assisting him in these times, and having proper guidance compared to the previous year only brings forth the blossoming smile upon her face as they go about their duties.

Sasuke gives the greatest of care when visiting his mother and father. He comes to them every day that passes in this celebration. The solemnity that radiates from him in their presence coats the air thickly within his long silent prayers. Viridian drink this man in, in these moments. This heavyhearted man in front of her makes her heartache with the inability to do more than stand beside him. She knows these feelings well. She has felt them, and she can only imagine how much strength it has taken him to continue forward when he was left alone. He has carried this disconsolate feeling far longer than her, and that's why she has made sure when he is finished and it is her turn to stand before them that she takes her time. There are wishes for their happiness in the afterlife, there is hope for their continued happiness, there is praise for their son and all that he is, and there is the request to leave their son in her continued care. These are the requests she makes every time they visit before placing down the floral arrangements she picks each day.

The temple festivals are nothing like the one she's grown up with, but that does not stop her from putting in the extra effort to bring forth some of her own traditions. She sits among the children in the village giving their parents time to rest and give tales of Chang'e. There are times he comes upon her mid tale, and times he is gone from her to do more for those requesting assistance.

The civilians and children who listen to her tales of the wife who flew to the moon after saving her husband's beloved elixir of immortality stare upon her with awestruck expressions. The gazes are welcoming as it shows their interest and delight at such a romanticized tale. It gives way to more tales of dragon and lion dances that she laid her eyes upon as a child their age, sacrifices to the moon, eating of moon cakes, and expressions of yearning for family who live out of fingers reach.

All that she gives brings forth the warmest of smiles, and looks.

The children request her to go with them to give prayer, and sacrifice to the moon, and she does so gladly. There is the feeling of his eyes upon her from below the steps to the temple. She does not mind it. She takes her place next to him soon after.

Serving him sake to take in the festivities comes with him pouring her a cup as well. The liquid is dry, but warm to her tongue. The sweetness is not one she was expecting—she had held the fantasy that the man before her would rather dabble in bitter drinks. It's aroma is gentle and almost nutty like.

The serving between them continues as they sit enjoying the moon that shines upon their garden. The silence isn't thick, and isn't tense. It makes her smile soft.

"Tell me the tales of Chang'e."

His interest in a tale romanticizing the devotion of the husband, who had refused to become immortal without his wife beside him, and of the wife, who had been forced to leave his side as she protected his immortal elixir is not one she would have expected.

"In a past far back beyond our own the earth was scorched by ten suns. The divine archer, Hou Yi, shot down nine of them leaving only one to shine down upon the earth. As a reward for his effort and work he was given an elixir of immortality. He would not consume the elixir without his beloved wife, Chang'e."

It's here she pauses to give him another serving of the sake he has quietly sipped, "While Hou Yi was out hunting though his apprentice, Feng Meng, sought to acquire the elixir, and tried to steal it. Chang'e refused to give the man the elixir and instead drank it to keep it from his hands. She flew to the heavens choosing to live upon the moon."

It's here he refills her cup listening intently to the otherworldly tale, "Hou Yi saddened by the events sought to give sacrifice to his beloved wife. He would give displays of her favorite cakes, and fruits." the soft laugh that falls from her lips makes her press delicate fingertips to her mouth, "It is truly a romantic tale from my childhood."

There is no response at first but her eyes are watching him process it as he sips his sake. There is contemplation across his face as he considers the tale, "Would you have done the same as this Chang'e?"

The question catches her off guard. Sakura takes a page from his book and at first does not answer. The viridian capture the moon within their stare and it's as she looks upon it she smiles. She lets out a noise of consideration finally, "Ah, I wonder."

He is looking at her and there is the slightest of hues upon his cheeks. The alcohol she assumes is what has made his lips loosen their normally tight lock. She sips from her cup, and then looks back to the moon, "If it were for you then, yes—I would have done the same."

Sasuke has stiffened beside her and it has tore her eyes from the moon realizing what she had let fall from her own loosened lips.

"Why?" his voice is tight as it comes out in immediate response.

"Why would I have done the same?" she is trying to understand the sudden anger that has flushed his face.

"Why do you do these things?" he spats as he swings back what is left within his cup.

"Sasuke-kun, what things are you talking about?" she is shrinking back at his tone unsure of what he is now asking her.

"You say these things—you keep doing these things—you keep doing all of it. How long are you going to pretend you're naive that I've been asked to bed another woman?" his words are a slap to her face that has her fluttering blackened lashes and give way to a visible flinch.

"Sasuke-kun I—" her voice comes out with hesitation unsure of how to answer what he is saying.

He slams his cup down as he begins to glower at her reactions, and attempts to quell him with that voice of hers, "You truly are okay with me _fucking_ another?"

Gritted teeth, and her own anger now flare to decorate her features at the way he has said such a thing. She cannot stop her hand from clutching the fabric of her kimono of gold near her chest—she is unable to stop her response, "Of course, I am not!" her voice is raised and far too loud for the time of night as she defends herself, "How can you expect me to be okay with such a thing?"

"Then tell me _dear wife_ , why you continue to do this little act of yours?" his voice is raising as he speaks.

Her fingers are slamming down upon the wood of the engawa continuing forward in her defense as her once held cup falls to her feet in the action, "What would you have me do _beloved husband_?"

"I did not expect _my wife_ to be such a _weak woman_." he is hissing the venomous sentence that falls from him as he rises to his feet to stare her down.

There is the sharpest of breaths taken at his words, and she cannot stop the widening of her doe-eyes at being called _weak_. The words are crushing her, cutting her deep, and bleeding her out. He would dare to think she was weak for her grin and bare it stance. He has only given the rancorous seed water allowing it to grow even deeper throughout her being. The spiteful flower blooming is of the most poisonous kind. She can only believe it will be the end of her one day.

Rising to meet his standing form she cannot stop the visible shaking that has overtaken her body as the heat of her anger fills her small frame. Viridian have glassed over as his words continue to hit her. She cannot—dares not—look him in the eye. Her throat burns as her voice gives out a strangled and loud cry—the tears have fallen.

 _I'm doing it all for you!_

She is sobbing and he is walking away from her with a growl escaping his throat at her response. He does not come home even after she has long since cried herself dry. It had taken every ounce of her stubborn nature to fight the resent that blossomed and sought to seize her completely. It had lurked from the tips of her toes to her fingers that twisted within the sheets. Her will had been beaten and buried within those vines so full of churlish disdain, and only after she had cried herself tearless was she able to pull herself back from that world so spiteful.

They do not go in the following days to his parents plot together. They do not assist and accompany each other throughout the rest of Shubun no Hi.

 _She does not stand beside him within his prayers_.

It is on the last day when she stands before her long since passed in-laws that she seeks to ask them to forgive her for allowing that resentment to linger deep inside her. She seeks to ask them to forgive her for abandoning their war torn son who continues to mourn them even after so much time has passed. She seeks to ask that they allow her to stand beside him once more after such abandonment. She has brought more flowers to sit upon their graves. She burns the incense—the prayers bring shame in asking for so much, and it's as she asks these things that she feels her eyes burning with tears desperate to shed. Her throat feels constricted as she rises from her kneeling position curling her fingers into her kimono, and bows to them. Rose-colored stands slide down her shoulders as she lets her voice croak out to give them gratitude, "Thank you so much for standing with him in my absence. I will do all that I can for him."

As the tears fall she locks the cry that threatens to spill within her throat before turning to see him just behind her.

 _How long had he been there?  
When had he arrived?_

He had heard her gratitude and declaration that much is certain. He is decorated with wide-eyed ebony ocular windows, and lips parted in startlement. It's seeing this expression that releases the cry that forces her petite hand to her mouth to keep any others that would dare fall muffled as her feet carry her from him and his parents.

* * *

Authors Note:

Chapter Seven is finally here, my dudes. There was actually a bit that got added to this one before releasing it today. The amount of research I did on Shubun no Hi, Magu, and Chang'e was ridiculous to be honest, but I wanted to make sure I understood what I was talking about. I know it probably isn't spot on but the amount of stuff I've learned has been absolutely amazing. If at any point like you guys get confused on the referenced Chinese Mythology, holidays used, or anything else don't hesitate to like ask. It can be a lot to take in, and trust me it took me going to several places to get a collective understanding myself.

I think a lot of your guys reviews can be pretty funny, and are always a interesting to read. Speaking of that lets get to responding to some of you.

777 - Sasuke and Naruto do know each other from the war. Naruto's been MIA at the moment though on the battlefield.  
Kaleej - Oh shit dude. Like I thought I dragged serious ass on this whole thing, but at least someone doesn't think I did haha I was spazzing pretty bad within the most recent days about my pacing with this story.  
X - Oh dude mad fist bump! Thank you!  
Guest - Na, Naruto has not put those dots together. He has no clue at this point that Sakura and Sasuke are married. Oh trust me, that Itachi meeting is coming. It's gonna be a real interesting one at that.  
G - You'll just have to wait it out dude.

As always thanks for reading, my dudes. I appreciate you continuing down this road with me one chapter at a time. I'll be honest with you all though. I'm expecting some hate this round, and like that's cool yo. After seeing another writer buddy of mine get a really nasty review though (and I'm pretty sure this is the same reviewer who freaked on me as well) please do understand. If you come into my stuff and expect to tell me off you best put a name to it. I don't deal with cowardly shit where you think you're safe behind a keyboard. If you won't put your name to something don't say it. It's that simple. Oh, and be constructive at least. Help people grow as writers. Make that review something that's going to help them succeed as the go.


	8. The Home

x.x.x  
 **Chapter 8**  
The Home

* * *

The distance he has created is there. He does not know how to rebuild that in which he destroyed in his frustration fueled and buzzed state. He concludes this is for the best. It was good for him, and good for her. She would no longer perhaps create the closeness she had before, and likewise she would no longer paint her face in a mask of false happiness. He would no longer find himself trapped in the world she provided unknowingly giving way to the possibility of impossibilities. He would no longer feel clouded by her mere presence.

That release of hot lividity had finally erupted and burned all it touched— _yet there is no satisfaction in such a thing_.

Shubun no Hi has long since ended, and with it brought travel. The plan they set to commence had begun, and he traveled with the few he had selected. Constant bickering came with these companions. Juugo was the one who would remain with him in silence at the petty fights that overcame Karin, and Suigetsu.

The phases of the moon continued to transcend over head with each passing night as they strike down camps of Senju and Uzumaki alike along the way to their destination. All know of him and yet cannot stop him when he descends upon them. It's the simplest of movements from him—his grace forever intact even with his mind muddled with inconsistencies. The blade, the speed, the fire that comes from deep within his lungs, and the lightning that coats his fingers as they pierce through their enemies within the opposing side's camps are as unforgiving as he was to her in his lack of control. The screams that echo among the trees are ones that do not haunt him. The pleaded mercy that trembles from their lips are not heard by any but those who let their bodies fall. The tears that pour from their being as his blade leaves their esophagus coating the steel in blood are ignored. He is as merciless as they say, and he takes it with great pride that she has not changed him completely—not _entirely_.

It's in the dark that surrounds them that is only lit by the fire they have maintained that he feels his stiff and tightened muscles feel the slightest of ease. Fingers extend a plate to him and he takes it with no question and no glance at the female in front of him. The woman with vibrant scarlet locks brought for her tracking abilities had continued her never ending press for attention—attention he would never give her. It's her that chooses to sit beside him albeit too close for his tastes, but he does not find it suffocating enough to create distance. His consistent rejection has yet to stop her before— _just as it never seemed to stop the wife that awaits him at home_.

The time for food is quiet with the barest of words from the woman, and loudmouth that interrupt it. It's as he takes the last spoon full into his mouth that the voice of the woman is next to his ear. It's the hair on the back of his neck that stands at her proximity. Ebony shift to her as her fingers dance onto his own gripping the empty plate and lifting it from him. He is ready to create the distance now, and give way to his continued rejection when the voice of the loudmouth beats him to it, "Give our brooding leader his space for crying out loud."

There is a scowl and a retreat from her as she fixes her eyes upon the sharped tooth male, "Oh shut up you asshole."

"Suigetsu. Karin. Enough." his annoyance is there in the deadpanned command.

They keep their mouths locked in fear of agitating him further, and it's as they lay down and he takes first shift that he finds the silence for once to be heavy. The breathing they give out can barely be heard over the crackling of the wood set ablaze. Just a little longer and a little further in and that breathing begins to become even. A toss and a turn brings him his eyes to the scarlet haired woman and it only forces him to listen intently to her breathing pattern—it's so different from _hers_.

Brows are pinched together at the realization. Swallowing thickly he attempts to now focus back onto the fire before him, and yet all he can hear is the even breaths that come from the woman he is not bound to. The sound is entirely different from the otherworldly creature that sleeps within his home—it does not provide the soothing effect he has found himself relishing in, in the dead of night when laying beside her. It's not the one that he would use to lull and comfort him into his attempts at dreamless sleep.

Sasuke cannot help but gaze upon the moon in it's waning period. It is not the bright object that filled the dark sky as it had been during their argument. The glow it provides is far below that of that time, and he wonders if she is gazing upon the same moon he does now. The tale she had provided him of the wife who drank an immortal elixir whispers within his ears, and it's with the memory that he finds himself looking to the moon differently than before. The moon brought with it night, and in the night is when his terrors would come to crawl and feed upon his exhausted limbs. The moon now carried with it a new meaning. She had given it new power.

 _I'm doing it all for you!_

Do her rose-colored strands spill around her as her viridian glow with anguish filled tears?

The anguish that had painted her face upon his harsh words—the anguish that had decorated her when he had come upon her giving prayer to his mother and father—is what haunts him. It's always one step forward and ten steps back with him. She had defended herself for once—she had not let him slaughter her with one-sided lividity. He had called upon the lividity he had only hoped she possessed and it had finally come to the surface. There is a sickening satisfaction that he had managed such a feat. It is the words that she had flung at him afterwards that had soured the satisfaction right after it had come.

He can only let the smallest of stiff chuckles fall from his lips in almost a pathetic display. He questions if his features look pained—he truly did prefer to see the tears that became a sea from those glowing viridian it seemed. His fingers are pulling at his fringe in that manner that only she seemed to evoke from him as his ebony watch the flicker of the fire upon the earth.

The earlier conclusion that the distance he had created was for the best is washed away in this moment of time. There is regret—there always seemed to be regret when he brought her to tears. The heaviest of exhales comes with that. How long would he continue to go back on his promise to do better in their marriage?

His shift comes to an end with the fiery orange hued haired male taking his place. The sleep he obtains is not dreamless—the terrors are not put at bay without that even breathing next to him. He is sure this is punishment for enjoying her tears.

With the sun beginning it's slow ascent to the air he no longer tries to feign his sleep, and he makes the team continue their journey further. His fingers twitch at the anticipation of battle to drown out her stifled cries that haunted him. There is shock in the eyes that gaze out at him as he rips his fingers from the flesh they have been dug into. The blood is warm upon his fingers and roughened pads. The smell of it is intoxicating and the stain it provides upon his pale skin is rejuvenating. Battle had never failed to produce the sweet whispers he longed to hear.

 _It's calming and distracting him from her_.

It's not until he is cornering a female medic as she cowers back begging and pleading for him to spare her that he finds the sweet whispers turn terroristic. This woman could be _her_ as she provides medic relief—this woman that continues to try to _crawl away_ from him in _desperation_ _could be her_. The Senju and Uzumaki could be the ones walking toward her with slow easy steps. They could stand atop of her as tears fall from her face, and whimpers escape her lips. They could be digging their fingers into her body as she grips their wrist in an attempt to stop them from ripping her heart out.

They could be holding the organ that gives her life— _just as he is doing now_.

 _The glow of those viridian could dull out just as the non-ethereal blues before him do_.

They hit seven more camps bringing forth the same destruction as the ones before them. His vision has started to blur at the use of his sharingan. The nights are but a flicker of seconds in his eyes. The sleep he needs is further and further from his grasp—he _needs her_ to give him those even unknowing breaths. His mind can no longer handle the lack of sleep and it's only making him more merciless and more aggressive in his taking of lives. The twenty-nine days that has passed and separated them is becoming too much to bare—the initial joy at the thought of her tears has turned to _worry_. The ache it has produced within his being can only be quelled upon seeing her beaming at him with that confusingly warm smile of hers.

 _He is selfish in every way_.

* * *

She is not there at the gates. She is not there in _his_ home. The worry that had come to him is now fear— _had she run from him_? The maids hold nothing upon their faces that would entertain such a thing as they welcome him home. They stand before him as if everything is as it should and would be.

The wild beat of his heart is bringing forth impossible outcomes—she wouldn't dare leave his side knowing it would end in her death, and yet she is not _here_. Fingers curl in an attempt to rein in the emotions that threaten to explode upon his maids, and home. He had not stopped at the clinic, and yet with the hour so late there is no way she would still be handling the injured— _would she_?

The curl of his fingers press deeper within his palm turning his knuckles white, and he is ready to unleash his fear laced vexation at the maids that stand before him. The sharp breath he takes practically chokes him—before the door of his home is opened, and panting breaths fill the air. Ebony whip to the viridian that look to him with those delicate fingers of hers curled upon the wood of the door frame regaining the loss of oxygen. Those rose-colored strands are disheveled from her ponytail that sits high upon her head and stick to her milky cheeks.

She is struggling to produce words as the almost desperate intake of oxygen continues—it's as if she has raced as fast as she possibly could to catch him, "Welcome home—Sasuke-kun."

He cannot stop the flutter of his ebony at her appearance, and voice. The decoration of his features only gives way for seconds— _moments in time_ —before being replaced with the stoic nature she knows. The worry— _the fear_ —and the almost unnameable vexation he had felt was gone from him at the simple welcome he has received.

"Hn."

She is quick as always to get him settled in their home. There is nothing stopping the command he just now seems to notice she has in _their_ home. The maids are quick to comply with preparing his bath, and getting him all that she demands. It's her that is bringing him tea as he ties the sleeping robe upon himself within their room. Exhaustion soaks his bones in ways it had not before, and with it his vision blurs making him rub at the lids to clear it. One moment she is pressing the hot cup of tea to his fingers, and the next she is gone. The light fragrance he knows of chamomile is filling his nose and he takes pleasure in the gentle soothing sensation it provides him.

He can hear more commands falling from her although they are muffled in his fatigue. It's the press from her fingers upon his back that surprise him. She is speaking and he is lost within the viridian that look up to him as she is at his side. They are coaxing and they are calming—they do not hold glassy unshed tears nor anger any longer. Those digits of hers have found their way to his hair and are rubbing the soothing patterns he has become so fond of.

It's after she has taken his empty cup and they are settled into bed facing each other with the small distance between them that he finally is hearing her through the exhaustion.

"I'm sorry I was late to welcome you home—a child was severely injured in battle and needed his heart restarted." she whispers lowly into the darkened room.

 _Ah._  
 _So that is what had kept her._

So she was out healing even at this unspeakable hour. He gives the smallest shifts of his head upon the pillow to produce a nod. She is apologizing once more as usual. Everything about her actions is normal. His lackadaisical features do not falter when soft digits trail his cheek to his hair. The droop of her lids is coming, and he knows she is fighting it as she whispers more to him. He takes no notice of what it is she tells him as her hand finally comes back to her side to curl within the futon. He is studying all that she is as if his memory had done her no justice. The whispers are trailing off into even breaths and when it has come in full form he gives forth the smallest sound of relief.

Her pale stands are longer than he remembers. The bags under her eyes are darker than he had ever recalled. The dry air of autumn has chapped her lips. He gives into the urge to capture those rose-colored strands of hers between his fingers. He is far too tired to care if she awakens from this action of his, and when she doesn't he is fine with that too.

He had called this woman weak for her smiles, spoken and unspoken apologizes, and desire to do all she could for him— _he could not fathom the depths of that which drove her to do so_.

Dreamless sleep overtakes him, and he has no objections. He cannot remember if he has released the light hold upon her strands. The only thing he can remember is the lull her breathing provides—the solace that comes from it is better than he remembers.

There is a sudden feeling of fingers throughout his hair, and it only makes him bury his head deeper within the pillow. She has not left his side—her warmth is present and closer than he recalls when they had given into sleep. He does not open his eyes to look upon her as the softest sounds coated in ease escape his lips. The sound of birds outside and in his garden fills his ears—the sound only serves to relax him further. His fingers curl and uncurl as he registers he still holds some of them within them.

Slowly he opens his eyes and in their tired state they seeking to find her face. She is sitting next to him still covered within the warmth of the blanket that covers them. Ebony trail to her mouth that give way to the warmth he is sure will also be in those viridian. It's not beaming at him—it's small but that doesn't lessen the warmth within it. The viridian do hold warmth, and almost something otherworldly within them—they look pleased to be looking down upon him in his tired state. This makes his fingers rub the rose-colored strands he had captured enjoying the feel of them between his roughened tips.

He can hear a maid in his half woken state, and with it she leaves his side—the strands slide through his fingers effortlessly. The warmth that flowed through her makes him long for her to return to stroking his hair and come back to sitting beside him. The bed feels strangely cold from her departure and makes him finally shift his head to look towards the door she has made her way too. Her scent though still clings to where she had been—that floral scent was entirely her. The tangy copper that had intoxicated him was nowhere to be found.

There are whispers and a shake of her head dismissing the maid, and it's with that he has settled to lay on his stomach and look towards her on propped arms. The softest of steps have brought her to kneel before him. One set of those fingers are upon her lap, and the second coming back to his head. It's all he needs to make him settle back within the blankets and pillow that call for him.

"Sleep in today, Sasuke-kun." her whisper is light, and it makes him release another soft breath of ease as her scent floods his nose once more.

The rubbing sensation is back and it is lulling him back into the world of the unconscious.

 _Ah_.  
 _Maybe this was a form of strength far different from his own_.

* * *

Fall seems weak this year in its attempt to keep the winter at bay. Her routine only changes with the cloak she dawns to keep the chill from her bones. Sakura had expected her husband to depart shortly after his return and yet he still resides within the walls of their home, and village. The change of pace is a blessing and a curse. There is hope for peace between them as he goes about his days before he is to leave her side again.

She had long since forgiven his words—they could not be taken back, but they could be changed. There was a loss at what more she could provide to do this, but the stubborn nature that filled her would not allow her to quit. That rancorous seed that had dared to bloom would not stop her.

Tea, sweets, and company are what she fills her afternoon with. The widowed Uchiha had found time within her schedule to allot her this small meeting. The children have kept her busy, but the shell she had been so long ago no longer stands before her. The warmth that had been there before Hikaku's death had returned and gave off a strength she did not know could be possessed— _she wonders if this is the strength of a mother_.

Resentful whispers come within her hears at the realization that she would never know such a thing. Her brows have pinched at the thought bringing worry to the woman before her and it only makes her force the thought away wishing to discuss something of more importance than her bitter feelings.

"Did Hikaku have eye strain from the sharingan?" she speaks carefully saying his name.

"Hm, I suppose you could say that—is Sasuke-sama having issues?"

"Sasuke-kun is doing well it's just that I notice there is significant rubbing of his lids, some occasional pain, and some other symptoms." she cannot help but fiddle with her fingers upon her lap as she speaks lowly.

The woman gives her a smile, "It sounds like he's just overworking his eyes from the constant battles. There is no reason to be concerned. Blindness does not come from the sharingan in its first form. You need only be concerned if he awakens the mangekyō sharingan."

"Mangekyō sharingan?" she cannot stop the halt in bringing the tea to her lips at the mention of it.

The woman gives a nod, and gives what she can tell is the briefest of explanations. The spring wife knows there is more to be told, but she does not press the hesitant woman for more. She is willing to take what she has been given—her husband is, just as she always knew, exhausted.

They give farewells with affectionate hugs, and smiles decorating their faces. Sakura can't help but take in how beautiful Uchiha women were even after all this time. There is something so exotic from them with their dark locks of ebony, and chocolate that only serves to make her feel so consistently out of place. This is another tug upon her heart in the name of churlish disposition that she forces from her mind as she presses her lips firm whilst watching the woman walk from her.

Many had dared to called her exotic for her strands of pale rose, and viridian eyes, and yet she had never found much beauty in such features. It only served to make her different, and served to bring forth teasing as a child.

The softest of exhales leaves her as she enters her home. Her handmaid is there to greet her as she always has, but it is the look upon her face— _the look of tangible dread_ —that has her nervous to proceed further within her home. There are a pair of shoes besides her husband's—they are undoubtedly _foreign_ —and it only makes her swallow thickly. The careful steps she takes in search of her husband feel heavier with each second that passes. The tips of her fingers hover to slide open the paper doors of her home, and it is with the slowest of movements that she swallows the anxiety.

The world is quiet as she gazes upon her husband at the chabudai. Tea had already been seated in front of him. It's aroma is foreign—it's not one she would have served him with its hint of jasmine scent. Viridian steady their gaze upon his strong jaw trailing with the slightest movement up to to note his ebony before flashing to the woman who sit across from him.

The soft flutter of her rose-colored lashes fall before taking in the woman whose presence cannot be ignored. The maid beside her is speaking to her and yet she cannot hear her completely focused upon settling the rapid pace of her heart. Everyone looks to her and it is finally with the twitch of her lips that she flashes her viridian open to truly take note of the woman seated in _her_ home.

The smile she holds is one of cheap quality, but little would this one realize it—her husband though would be able to note it easily.

"Sakura." his voice is smooth as he pronounces her name—it's soothing but does little to quell those rapid thuds within her chest.

"Ah, so you're the much talked about wife—Sakura Haruno?" the woman stares upon her with the hereditary genetics that she found to be so beautiful, and so completely out of her reach.

The bitterness she had cast from her mind earlier resurfaces at her words. The rancorous seed that had blossomed had dug its roots within her. It still held her captive, and it was just as poisonous as it had been the day her husband had watered it. The intended insult is silently laced within those words and one that others would not notice—her husband included—this woman set to make it clear that she knew her place and purpose. This is all it takes to quench the thirst of the greenery so selfish and starved. It feeds off those words meant to bring forth her insecurities.

 _To bed her husband_.

The woman is not wrong— _she is not an Uchiha_ —she is only an Uchiha in name, but this woman would learn that she was not the delicate flower that many seemed to associate her with, "Uchiha."

She does not need to look at Sasuke to see him give the smallest of shifts at the strength in her tone. Her fingers which trailed the handle have left its care to settle in front of her with its partner.

"I'm sorry, Haruno-sama, what was that?" the woman gives forth hesitance as she speaks this sentence not understanding if the surname is used to address herself.

"My name is _Uchiha—_ Sakura Uchiha." the smile, cheap in quality, grows as she lets the surname fall from her lips with deliverance.

She was not the most exotic compared to these beings of ebony locks, ebony eyes, and pale complexions. She was not a holder of their family traits, and family eyes so completely and utterly them. She was not able to keep her emotions stoic in the presence of others. She was not able to be someone she had initially deemed more suitable. No, she could not provide those things. She could not do what was beyond her power.

Her husband had asked her if she was truly okay with him bedding another—no, he had spoken it in harsher terms calling it _fucking—she was far from okay with it_. Resolution and determination are what fill her chest, and rise from her throat. She had let her insecurities and restraint of who she was tell herself that she could not be his anchor. She had let those vines and flowers sprout within her. She had let them hold her back and she had allowed them to make her actions shallow. She would be his anchor to this world. She would be the reason he stayed grounded to the world of the living each time he stepped forward from this home.

 _She would be his home_.  
 _Her mother had not raised her child to bow before these exotic women_.

There was one thing she knew for certain, and that was that she could give, and _love as deeply as the Uchiha_. It did not matter how many times he threw her heart to the side or pushed her from him. She would come back better, stronger, and more stubborn than before. She would not give in to such churlish disdain. _That was what her mother had taught her_.

 _Never give up_.  
 _Never give in_.

"Do not mistaken me within my home if you wish to stay seated where you are."

It is here she stares down upon the woman with the cheapness of her smile gone. There is pride in her name, and her position, and this woman would abide by this within her presence if she wished to remain in it.

"Ah, I've offended you. My apologies." the woman speaks with humor as if teasing and little has this woman realized that she is not one for teasing—those that whisper of her should have informed the poor woman better.

She gives the slightest shake of her head in disagreeance, "No, I wouldn't expect one so below me to understand the order in which she is pla—" the words are wicked but sheltered with warmth and it is her husband who has dared to cut her short as the woman's eyes widen with her meaning.

"Sakura." his voice is tight with warning that she had only seen him give to others.

 _Never to her_.

The resolution that had sought to vanquish that cruel flower rooted so deep keeps her firm in her stance, "No. Better to let her realize her role now, than to give her misguided thoughts."

"Sakura." his voice is louder this time commanding her to silence herself.

"How dare you speak to me—a _pure_ Uchiha—in such a manner, as if a _chink_ like you could hold any power!" she hisses as she rises to her feet in challenge to the spring wife.

The air is heavy within the room at the drop of the racial slur thrown her way. Wide doe-eyes reflexively shake as she registers what has been spoken but are quick to harden their gaze in a scowl. The racial slur pushes her to walk across the room. The yells of her name and to cease are disregarded in her powerful steps towards the woman. This woman will know her place and know it well when she is done with her. Her husband had called her weak— _he would find out here and now she would tolerate no such behaviors_.

He would find out now that she did not need him to shield her from those that questioned his political marriage.

 _She did not need him to shelter her from those who dared to say such slurs_.

Delicate fingers have found themselves clenched around the elaborate kimono that adorns this woman. She yanks her close taking in the deep rich red that dare challenge her as the other woman's fingers grip upon her wrist, "You are to leave. If you seek to bed my husband then you can do so out of sight and out of earshot."

Roughen fingers have gripped her arm in a tight hold. She does not remove herself from the eye lock she has been challenged to, and it's only through peripherals that she sees his face decorated in lividity at what she can only assume is caused by her words, and behavior—it's her turn to care little for his anger in these moments.

The maid she had left in surprise and fear at the door is at her vacant side. Fingers are pressed to her shoulder in hesitance with whispers to let go of their guest. A deep breath is what fills her nose before going down to settle her nerves. It's thick and suffocating at realizing she has lost this confrontation. It does not matter if she releases her gaze from this woman. She was seen as the problem among those present and persuading— _no, telling_ her to let go of the woman.

Slowly she releases the vice grip of a hold upon the woman. Not once do her eyes falter from the deep rich red that had challenged her and won. She feels her throat constrict at the loss and her eyes take note of her husband's lips opening, but maintains a steady voice as she cuts him off, "I expect you to be gone by the time I return. I hope I've made myself clear." the venom she spits is higher in quality than she has intended, but it makes her point clear.

His hold tightens even more than she thought it possibly could upon her arm. It is something they will argue about later. She needs to remove herself now before she is goaded into something far more dangerous. There is mental praise at the jerk she makes with her shoulder to slacken his release and as she turns to leave the room. She would not let him give more life to the resentment.

" _Sakura!_ " his yell holds more venom than her own at the call of her name.

She does not respond as she makes her way from the room looking to retrieve more suitable clothing. The tightening frustration within her gut is begging for release and those vines seek to make her spill it all. She would supply it what it desired far later in her preparation for the war that would await her when she returned. His steps are solid behind her as she enters their bedroom, and slides the door upon his face.

It only gives her momentary reprieve before he has ripped the door open with a resounding snap. She has already started the harsh removal of the godforsaken kimono that clothes her. It's layers are being removed with care long since gone coating the floor as she searches for a cheongsam of rich red. There is no shyness within her at this moment. It's not as though her husband had never laid eyes upon her before.

"Where do you think you are going?" his voice is what she would consider lethal.

She is dancing within the flames and smoke that is his being as she holds her tongue. Slipping the dress upon her hips she does not lessen her practiced hands that dress her. She knows this storm she has unleashed is of unknown territory and it is after she knows she will not burst from her loss of composure to the woman down the hall locked away in another room of her house that she will face it headstrong. It's with this new resolution she practically hops into the black shorts that settle underneath her dress.

She is wrapping the black obi upon her waist when he grabs her shoulder again forcing her to look at him. Her fingers still do not fail to complete their task latching the belt that weaves throughout it to hold the obi in place.

"Let go, Sasuke-kun."

"Where do you think you are going?" his hiss is low and he is closer than she had thought.

His breath is felt with each word directed at her pointedly. It's another deep breath of air that quickly enters and leaves her being in attempt to keep its lock upon her anger. She runs her tongue across her teeth before speaking, "You have a guest you must attend too."

His features deepen in the painted lividity and it's an expression that resembles that of the one she had come home too when he had snapped Suigetsu's arm. There is no fear in the face of this expression. To fear this man would prohibit her ability to love him. You did not need a reason to love someone, but to hate you did and fear is what could birth that reason.

"Answer me." he scoffs at her stubborn behavior.

Her viridian dare glare upon him as she snaps her shoulder back ridding it of his grip. She could not be stoic especially in front of this man. That was fine. He had chastised her for putting on an act— _there was no act today_. The frustration, and anger she felt could not be more real than now. The resentment and disdain she held towards this woman meant to bare him children could not be contained. She knows it decorates her features from the viridian her mother had blessed her with to the mouth that had lacked control in the challenge down the hall.

His chest is rising with the intake of air, and she knows it is him trying to refrain from possibly unleashing more upon her as he had done during Shubun no Hi. It allows her to believe she can walk from this with no more words— _that she has made her intent to leave perfectly clear_.

He snaps her name as she crosses his path and it breaks the lock on her mouth once more, "Don't you dare think you can restrict me." It's with swiftness that she carries her feet forward making her way down the hall. His own are attempting to match her pace as they pass the room where she had grabbed a hold of the woman meant to give him an anchor to the world—the maid has clung to the wall in desperation to be out of their path.

She snaps the open toed boots upon her feet daring to not look upon him. She knows if she does the lock will continue to break until there is no way to fix it—once the words would leave her mouth there was no way to take them back. Once they left there was no certainty that she could maintain the anger and not fall into tears as she continued to do within their marriage at every disagreement they held. The was no guarantee her will could take another beating so vicious, and so harsh.

There is no notice at the outreached hand he has. There is no realization at the wide-eyed ebony that watch her exit their home. There is no consumption of his heart beating wild with fear at her departure.

The air cools her heated skin as she makes her way out with a pace that easily leads to sprinting. The heads that turn to her take in her urgency and yet she does not care what they notice. The further her legs could take her the faster she could unleash the anger that had begged for release. The further her legs took her the safer it was to let those vines take hold of her heart.

It's deep out into the woods far from their village that she finally stops to give way to a wail. Her fingers dig within her hair letting out the mix of anger and heavy heart that flooded her being. She could not chance destroying their training grounds with her inhuman strength and it is only because of that careful thought before now she had ever found this place. She needed a clearing far that would let her do as she pleased, and this provided that.

It's as she rubs her eyes to clear the irritating tears from her face that she lets out another breath. The curses she utters lead to her biting her bottom lip in distaste as her fingers now grip the long strands of pale rose. This hair was only one of the many reminders that she was disgustingly different—made her, as the woman had claimed in her slur, _dirty_.

* * *

 **Author Note**

I've been scrapping a lot of stuff in upcoming chapters, and the closer you guys get to me the more I wig out not gonna lie. Lol I hate the idea that you're gonna catch up to me, but with me having cosplay I have to get done before February my attentions been back and forth. Hopefully I can get some decent distance between me and you guys soon. I hope you all had a baller Christmas, and have a great New Year. Thanks for reading and reviewing as always. It's been good dudes.

 **Kal** \- Dude Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year to you as well!  
 **Guest, who mentioned Karin** \- Karin plays a minor side role, but won't be of anything significant. There's been defection on both sides, and so she's just another defector but from the Senju's side. As for the other woman thing like. I went OC on it because it made the most sense to me than to use a character who was genuine and from the series and drop them into OOC for the story. I don't feel like my biasness on characters should be found in my work, and should be held as close to their canon parts as possible.  
 **Guest, who asked me not to keep them waiting** \- My hooooooooooooooomie! This bitch is tryin I swear LOL I'm glad I've got you digging the story. Definitely review again when you have time. I wanna just fist bump you haha I'm reckless, offensive and seek to destroy your defenses~  
 **Ari** \- So glad you're enjoying it and appreciate the confirmation that I'm not making them too OOC. It's always good to hear that seriously.  
 **Guest, who cried** \- Dude. Wait till we get to the chapter that made me cry, and made me question all of my shit. Like it happened. I admit it. Thank you so much for the compliment!  
 **Guest, who disagreed with the submissive stuff** \- Sakura's main thing in the canon serious was her unconditional love, and I really wanted to make that a theme in this so I'm glad some of you are enjoying it, and seeing why I went the route I went.  
 **To the rest about the submissive stuff** \- The above was the thought behind it. I recommend reading over PANGA3A's review as it explains pretty on point why I felt this was a good direction to go.  
 **777** \- DUDE I HAVE THOSE SENPAI NOTICED ME MOMENTS ALL THE TIME ON TUMBLR. I AM WITH YOU. Thanks for always reviewing!

Like I said before and to those I could respond to. Thanks for reviewing and giving your thoughts on things as they progress it's always super cool seeing what everyone's thinking. See ya in like two weeks guys!


	9. The Fall

x.x.x  
 **Chapter 9**  
The Fall

* * *

The night does nothing to block out the tenseness within his home. The maids had long been told they could retire after what has transpired. The slur the woman had called his wife was one he knew. It had been the same from a time so long ago where he had publicly shown his lack of tolerance for such insults to the woman who would stand beside him. His fingers clench at the memory. They loosen and tighten almost therapeutically as he continues to gaze holes within his entry way. He cannot feel her within the walls he protected, and led.

 _She has run from him_.

He knows he needs to seek her out if she intended to run away, but she had stated she would return. The hour is late though and still she has not come back.

 _She has not returned within his protection_.

He grinds his teeth with firm pressed lips. The urge to hunt down the woman who had caused such behavior from his wife, and reprimand her _more_ than he had before her leave, quakes within his being. He had whipped his head back and stared her down when she had dared to come out of the room with such triumph upon her face. He had raised his voice, and he had made it clear such a slur would not be tolerated. He had demanded she leave his presence—unlike the need to have his wife's within his space. He had not done enough.

The irritating floral scent within his home makes his throat tighten.

What if she truly did not return? What if she had fallen out of his reach? What if he had been too cruel this time? Would her scent no longer coat his home with its flora hint? Would she no longer wrap him within her being making time so painstakingly slow? Would she no longer give way thoughts of impossibilities?

The spring nymph's words echo within his home in their command, their claims, and their demands. They linger in the tenseness of his— _no_ _, t_ _heir_ —home in hushed whispers to his ears. He should have stepped in when the woman had failed to apply his last name to her. He should have been the one to grip her kimono at the racial slur. He should have been quicker, done more, and gave more.

He _always needed_ to give more—he was always _failing_ to give more.

He was not good for this woman. He was not what she needed. She needed more than he could give. Distaste at the thought brings his fingers to his hair running them through the ebony locks—her fingers always gave way to soothing rubs when they found their way to his hair. He could only tug upon them in the worry, anger, and frustration that covered him. The glow of her viridian as they showed her barely maintained lividity are haunting within every memory, and every thought.

The door is opening and with it his ebony drink in her emerging form. He doesn't need his sharingan to notice the bloodshot whites of her eyes. He does not need it to notice the smallest of red dots that are upon her skin around her eyes showing her continued rubbing. He does not need it to see continued abuse she had brought to her locks in their tangled mess. He does not need it to see the blemishes that mark her knuckles, and he does not need it to see her viridian drinking him in.

 _She had returned_ _—s_ _he may have very well fallen from his reach and picked herself backup without him_.

He had absolutely been too cruel. Her scent is the floral he expects but holds such an unusual earthly wooden tone as it resupplies itself within their home. She continued to wrap him within her presence making this moment before him that unbearably slow turn of time just as he expects. She embodied the impossibilities in loud echos just as he has come to know. She was everything he had learned her to be and, yet she is hollow before him.

This long almost two year journey in which they had traveled through gravel and stone together in a union called marriage had continued to break this woman before him down. There is the sickening revelation that he wants to travel it much further with her. He just doesn't know how. This woman who he had called weak not long ago from now never stopped traveling beside him—she never _fucking_ stopped. She had pushed and she had continued further. She had refused to stop, and she had refused to bow before all that stood within her way even has it tore her down.

The tension is heavier than it had been before with her arrival. He watches the viridian as they shift from his form to the floor in repeated succession. There is a tightening of her throat as she swallows. It forces him to swallow in return.

His ears hear the softest of breaths taken in—he fears she'll apologize. He is terrified he will let her apologize. He does not want her apologies. He does not want this woman to give him even more than—

" _What if I asked you to love me—_ " it's here he questions if he had heard the otherworldly nymph speak correctly.

His thoughts are halted as she produces a more painstaking question.

— _If you wanted to love me?_

He feels his back hit the wall as he seeks to step back from her to ground himself. He is swallowing what he thinks is air sent to suffocate him. He, who would not— _no_ _,_ _it's not that he would not_ _. . ._ it's that he could not give her what she truly deserved, and yet she asked in such a voice that dares to twist his insides if he were to tell her so. This woman, who he had swore he could read so easily, had brought all of it crashing down around him in such a complex request.

Had he even truly heard her? Was this what had powered her actions this afternoon? Was this what drove her to never stop? Is this what forced her to lock her heart within her chest to put on acts as though she was fine? Was this what she had decided she wanted from this union? Was love what she sought to obtain from him?

He could not— _no_ , he would not answer her. He needed to breath again. He needed to stop its slow crushing descend upon his being. He needed her away from him. The worry, the anxiety, the frustration, and the anger he could handle. This soft spoken woman who asked for him to love her he could not. This heavyhearted woman before him was drowning him in this plea of a request. He needed her to stop the glowing viridian that looked at him like she had barely crawled back from where he could not reach her. He needed her to not look so absolutely distressed with those tangled rose-colored strands, and bloodshot eyes of hers.

Sasuke feels the urgency in every ounce of his being to run far away from her. He feels the necessity to keep her at arms length—this was for her. He was doing this for her. She deserved far more than he could give her. She needed someone who could give completely, and with no priority ladder. She was worth far more than all his victories combined.

"You're pushing me to the brink—Sasuke-kun, I'm reaching out to all that you are." her voice is but a croak as if she will fall right back into the place he could not reach. It makes his fingers twitch at the urge to pull her forward before she falls, "I'm reaching out for all that you are, Sasuke-kun!"

 _No—no, no, no_ _,_ _god no_ _,_ _she's falling—_

Those delicate fingers that he is sure shattered whatever was in her path during her disappearance are dug into her hairline. Her palms hide those viridian from him overflowing in her plea. This scene is too familiar. This scene is one he had been in before with her. This scene is one he had hoped with all of his being to never have to see again. It's just as the time before that her cry calls his steps forward. He reaches for the palms pressed against her face pulling one from it's place as he holds the other gingerly where it sits.

"I'm holding my breath that you'll come near. I'm holding my breath that you will feel anchored to this world. I'm holding my breath that you do not walk into this war with no attachment. I'm holding my breath that you care if you _die_. I'm holding my breath that there is some way to make you care. What is it I have to give for you to do these things? You say I am like Magu and, yet, I cannot protect you or be your elixir of life. I can't even anchor you to the world. _How could I possibly protect you_?" she chokes upon her words so bitter.

He seeks to cut her off but she will not give the chance, "You asked me if I would do the same as Chang'e and, yet, you _hate_ that I— _you think_ that it makes me _weak_ for wanting to do so. I would shoot the nine suns myself and give you all of the immortal elixir if it would mean you stayed alive. You _hate_ that I put on a smile when I resolved to accept you bedding another in hopes that with children you would _care_ if you died— _I know_ _,_ _I cannot do that task_."

All of the venom she pours is not for him. It's at herself and it only serves to make his stomach plummet and nausea fill his throat. He cannot swallow it down to even begin to respond— _to begin to tell her she's wrong_.

"I am from a clan of no importance with features that painfully contrast when I stand beside you. _That woman_ is not wrong. I am _dirty_. I am as she said— _just a disgusting chink_ —and even more so I disgustingly dare to reach out to you knowing I cannot reach you—will _never_ reach you. I swallow back my wants, and my needs in hope that it will give you at least some form of peace—I'm drowning in all of it. I've been well passed my breaking point—It's all my fault though. You have promised me nothing, and I selfishly want something. I want your health, your life, and all that you are! I _want_ for so much!" her voice fills their home drenching all it touches in acid with everything she had held within herself.

She has curled up within her sobs bending her will to him. Her tears fall as if they are never ending. He feels panic at her claims, and her thoughts. All of these thoughts, and all of these feelings. All of these things that made her undeniably her. She is practically begging before him as she has spilled them. It's her shaking form that has made sure he realizes this is reality. There would be no waking from this moment to cause him confusion. There would be no rising from the depths of sleep to question if this was meant to haunt him. There would be no denial that she is here with all of her heart upon her sleeve far more than she had ever been before. Her everything has never been clearer. She had never been more real.

He thought he knew his wife. He thought he understood this otherworldly creature who decorated her face will smiles, and warmth at every turn. He thought that almost two years worth of traveling through this life together had shown him all that she was.

 _He had never been more wrong_.

This woman sought to save him from himself—he didn't even know he needed saving. What had viridian seen that even he could not? She gave apologies for wanting him to stay among the living. He had broken her down. He had crushed her within their marriage. He had shattered her mercilessly within their time together. Every thought she had put forward—every move she had made—was for him. The panic within him is destroying the ground from beneath him. He is going to be swallowed to where he could not reach her. He needs to do something—anything to bring them up from this desolate place of anguish.

He tightens the hold he has upon her hand he has pulled from her tear stained face. His other is desperate in it's attempts to pull her other hand from her face. She is not beyond his grasp. He has fallen to where she is—s _he is absolutely reachable_. The panic demands he grasp her, demands he protect her, and demands that he do whatever it takes to ensure that she is not left behind as he fights his way through all of her petulance and desperation.

 _No.  
It's as he fights through his own uncertainty and hopelessness_.

He pulls her to him in disheartenment, and desire to envelope her within his being as if it will shield her from herself and all that he has brought upon her. The stubborn and proud woman she was— _is_ —but a shell of her former self. He would bring her back—he could bring her back. He needed her back. His fingers leave her delicate hands as he nestles them within the back of her head curling within the rose-colored strands he found so absolutely ethereal. She had called them dirty—she had gone so far as to call herself _dirty_. This woman was unearthly in every way—he had made her think so much differently. She thought his eyes upon her were that of distaste for her ethnicity—she had continued to miss that she had long since bewitched him with her contrast to him. He could fix that. He had to fix that. He needed to fix that. She needed to remove the disdain she held against herself, and her features. She needed to wash the disgust she felt for being different off.

His forehead presses against hers willing her viridian to glow up into his. His fingers give way to soothing rubs that he has learned from her as if it would coax her to do so. God, she needed to look at him—she needed to see him before her creating the closeness she had sought to create for him. He does not understand what he's doing and, yet he believes that all of these actions right in this moment are right.

"Look at me." his voice is hoarse as it comes out in desperation. It only causes her to cry out as if he has harmed her with the request, " _Please_ , Sakura."

He is swimming in fleeting pride as she finally gives way to his request opening those long since shut viridian. The lids open with struggle as if demanding to stay hidden, but she has used what little will she has left to open them. His rough lips come down to her soft ones. He can't help but think this is the second time they have done this since their wedding. He cannot help but think that he has wronged her for this. He has wronged her in her title of wife.

The kiss is not long, but not chaste.

Time continues with its slowed pace as he pulls from her and those viridan open to hold onto his endless ebony. His hands remove themselves from her strands to grasp her hand in his. He pulls her down the unlit hallway to their bedroom that she had left in anger hours before now. The only sound that comes within this silent pull is her attempt to ease her breathing with small sharp intakes. She is always leading him through these halls to mend and heal. She is always quick to give him whatever he needs as they lay down within the room. He needs to give to her here and now as she lets him lead her from her broken shell left within the entryway

He is gentle in changing her—there is overwhelming fear that even the smallest thing will startle her away from his side. He has no idea how to manage her hair into a braid to give her rest from it, and so he settles for simply tying it loosely behind her. He will learn how to braid her hair if it gives her some of the peace she has tried to give him. He leads her to the bed in an effort to continue to bring them from the devastating place he has tried to pull them from.

They are nestle under the sheets of the futon with the need to make sure that she is wrapped within him. He cannot help but almost feel almost out of touch with reality as he gazes at her eyes tired and exhausted. Her face is not decorated with smiles, and warmth. She looks calm before him with the slightest of chokes of air as she lays looking upon him. He aches deciding he likes it better when she smiles in that moment. He needs to fix so much. It had taken almost two years to break her down to this point, and he knows it will take just as long to mend it. He needed to be the mender—he needed to be the healer. She moves closer to him and he welcomes it gladly. It's no secret between them that even with her head tucked into his shoulder that she is fighting sleep. She is breathing him in, and her fingers curl upon his daily wear to bring herself, if possible, closer than she is.

Her lids have finally given up their attempt to fight sleep, and there the briefest feel of her mouth shifting.

 _Ah_.  
He likes it so much better when she _smiles_.

* * *

The morning is early and it's the birds that wake him to her slumbering form. She is tangled within him with his hands nestled within those rose-colored strands of hers. They had survived the night of tears and strangled voices. They had survived falling into a world of anguish brought about by his inability to be a proper partner, and husband. He can't help but inhale her scent to calm his heart that beats wildly in pride that he had kept her by his side.

There was so much to work on, and so much he needed to fix, and mend before he could swim in such pride. The foundation of their marriage had taken serious damage. It hadn't completely fallen though. It was salvageable. Gently he does his best to remove himself from her. When he needed rest she had been the one to bring him what he needed, and take care of running the house. Her grip upon his clothes is stronger than he had expected but he manages to remove her fingers from him. She gives out a breath filled with the lull of her sleep in his actions, but thankfully does not awaken in his retreat from her.

He walks with soft steps unsure of how deep a sleeper his wife was. She was early to rise sometimes even more than he was. He pulls the paper door closed in a gentle but slow motion as he hears the steps of one of their maids making their way to him. It only takes a look from him to make her close her mouth.

It's not until he's in the kitchen leaning against the wall with his arms tucked across his chest that he orders her to bring the rest of them for a meeting. He cautions her to be quiet. There would be no waking the nymph with their duties today.

They gather in silence awaiting what he has to say, and it's this that makes him close his eyes before clearing his voice of it's tired tone, "What is on her schedule for today?"

The handmaid that trailed behind the nymph throughout her wifely duties is the one to speak immediately, "She was meant to meet with some of the merchants to discuss their trade paperwork, have lunch with some of the other wives, take the village children herb gathering, and do a night shift at the clinic."

"Clear it." his voice is deadpanned in hearing how busy his wife seemed to keep herself.

"Uchiha-sama?" there is hesitance from the handmaid as if his command has made her uncomfortable.

"She is to do nothing but rest. Send apologies for the late notice. I don't particularly care what it is you tell them, but make it clear she is unavailable for the day." the absolute authority he carries has made his point clear, "Also, no one is to breath a word of whatever was heard last night. I will not tolerate someone spreading gossip of what goes on within my home."

He does not need to ask them if they have understood as they give a nod of understanding immediately. The wave of his hand sends them from him, and it's with that he sets out to make her tea. He doesn't know what she prefers, and the frustration decorates him as he looks upon the options. The spring wife had learned all that he liked from the food he enjoyed to the way he drank his tea. He knew none of those things when it came to her. He had not cared to learn. This was just another thing he would have to change. There was the subtle curiosity if she liked sweet things. He gives the smallest of hums at the thought. Sweet felt right, and felt fitting for her. The tray he prepares holds honey, and sugar cubes within small dishes. He's chosen white tea for her—it's just another thing he thinks fits her.

The brewing of the leaves brings the light and sweet aroma to his nose, and it's only with a few more moments of letting it settle that he removes the leaves from the kettle. He's curious if she still sleeps within the bedroom as he slides the door open carefully. She has, and she's seated in front of her low sitting vanity brushing the rose-colored locks out in rushed fashion as she lets her gaze spot him from the mirror, "I've cleared your schedule."

Her hands halt their assault upon her locks giving way to wide doe-eyes as she turns to look at him with tray in hand, "But there's so much to do." her voice shows a touch of panic.

Even in the sordid state of their marriage, and all that she had said within her broken state she sought to push herself aside.

 _She's running from last night_.

He breathes in deep, "It can wait." his voice is tighter than he has intended but it doesn't seem to be noticed as she lays her brush down upon the small vanity table. Hesitation soaks her movements. He's setting the tray down upon the floor before her sitting across with equal hesitation.

Her face shows it's fatigue and he's hoping these small things he's trying to do will ease her, "I'm sorry I was late to make your tea."

He gives a shake of his head, "I made it for you not me." her viridian have left the kettle and have come to him with the statement. That smile that was entirely her blossoms on her face. It's small but it's a start.

Rough fingers seek out the handle of the kettle and it's as he pours her a cup that he seeks to make his hesitance hidden from her. He looks to her and a knowing look comes upon her lips as she dips a spoon full of honey within the cup. There's hope within this moment of silence between them as he brings her cup to his lips giving gentle blows upon it to make it drinkable for her. Words aren't needed for this small insignificant moment. She's recognizing the little attempts, and the silent questions he has. This does nothing to solve their issues, but it means that she sees his poor attempts at easing the tension between them.

The flow of time doesn't exist here. There's nothing that matters outside these walls, but tending to her. There is no difficulty in giving her these little things, and taking these baby steps to find common ground.

After she has drank her tea and eased from her frantic thoughts of her schedule he takes the lead in taking her hand. She hesitates once more when he seeks to take her from their room. She's not used to him and this effort. She's not used to him leading her. She's not used to him touching her in what is a far cry from how partners should touch. There is no normalcy between them, but he's determined to make her feel normal today.

His fingers are careful in prepping her for a bath. There is hope that she knows he is doing his best to figure out what it is he can do for her because he truly has no clue what he should do. His fingers run within her hair patiently running the soap throughout her hair as she sits upon the stool. The sweat, tears, and dirt that had found its way upon her are being cleansed, and removed in the hopes it will remove some of the lasting fatigue he has caused her in this marriage.

There is the slightest nudge into his hands that makes him think she is finding contentment at his awkward attempt a soothing rubs upon her scalp. It pushes him to provide more as he gathers the strands he finds impossibly long to sit in front of her shoulder before working on cleaning her skin. He finds spots that produce the smallest of giggles under her arms, and just above her hips. He knows that he's touching her intimately but she's not stopping him.

There is nothing sexual about each touch he makes upon her skin, and she is taking each press of his fingers upon her with less and less hesitation.

He would of thought her to hesitate more in such vulnerability. He would have thought she held onto the tension that slowly seems to ease from the air.

It's not until his cheek presses against hers that he can feel heat upon her face. This woman was anything but shy but in this moment he can't help the smirk that hides within the corners of his lips. The dirt that had settled under her nails makes him take extra care in washing them. There is regret as he takes his time with each finger, and she laces her fingers within his as he reaches for the handheld shower head. There is the smallest of noises as he begins to spray her down, and his clothes are well beyond soaked. He is okay with this though—all of this is okay as long as he is giving something regardless of how small back to her. He only removes his fingers from hers to help the water rinse away the soap that coats her.

He finds he enjoys the smallest of breaths that leave her as he runs a towel over her hair. He doesn't need to see her face to know there is a smile upon her face as she takes her rose-colored strands upon her head with the towel, and allows him to lead her into the bath he's readied. She's easing into it and he chosen to sit beside it leaning upon the side of the tub to look at her.

The silence between them is still right where it needs to be. It's not thick and heavy, nor is it loud, and echoing with all the things that has led to last night. She has chosen to lean upon the thick smooth wood of the bath to mimic him with her head upon her arms. He feels himself swallow with this closeness she has provided.

He feels the need to apologize.

 _He wants to apologize_.

His mouth feels dry as he finally lets such a thing fall, "I'm sorry. . .for everything."

The glow of her viridian is vibrant with her decorated shock. There's a mixture of feelings he cannot place upon her face before it's completely overtaken by warmth, "You're so unbelievably kind, Sasuke-kun."

It's a whisper within the nonexistent flow of time, and the statement has rendered him powerless to stop his own eyes from decorating in surprise at her response. He feels himself swallow. It's thick, but not suffocating, and tense. Her fingers are reaching out with the tiniest of water drops falling before making their way into his hair and giving those long desired rubs upon his scalp.

No other words are needed between the two of them. Ebony and viridian only seek to stare at the other. There's so much adoration within her gaze, and it gives way to the tiniest tingling sensation of warmth within his stomach. He's not sure if the look he has is warm, but he hopes it is. She deserved more than he could ever possibly give, but she had said she wanted him, and so he would give what he could.

Long after he has removed her from the bath and they sit within the warmth of the kotatsu he has made the maids bring out. She has begun filling the silence with small chatter as they eat. There is a refreshing feel from the small things she chats about. He realizes it's because she has never given way to such things. This is a part of her he guesses she had locked away for him. She still isn't beaming, and he knows he will have to work much harder for that. Yet, she looks revived from all that he has put her through. She's slowly showing these parts of her she had sought to keep from him.

The dinner they have is interrupted and there is curiosity in her viridian as the maid informs them they have a guest. The look upon the maid is one of discomfort, and he rises to see who is at his doors. There's a silence between their shared look that requests she stay where she is.

He feels anger rising within his throat at who would dare to interrupt them. He had told them to state she was unavailable. He cannot understand who would think he would be available if she was not.

Ebony eyes, and ebony long hair are what greet him. He feels the anger hot and threatening to burst that she would reappear before him so soon after he had reprimanded her. Uchiha or not she would realize here and now that he was not one to push, and not one to continuously anger so quickly. Fingers curl trying to keep his tone even. This was the woman Madara had sent him, and while he sought to not anger the leader of his clan he would not allow this woman to think she could do as she pleased.

"Leave."

"Sasuke-sama, I have come—"

"I do not believe I have stuttered. Leave. Do not come back."

"But Sasuke-sama—" he is upon her before she can even finish the sentence.

Her back is pressed upon the door, and her throat held within his fingers as he bares his deep rich red upon her. The maid who had followed him to the entrance has jumped back at his aggression. There was no room within his village for those who disobeyed him. His wife had been right in thinking that this woman did not know her place. Pride in their clan was ultimate, and sound, but to think you could cast aside the roles in which you held with that pride would not be tolerated.

 _Everyone had a place and she would learn hers_.

"Sasuke-kun, let her go." he feels his deep rich reds widen as he whips his head around to his otherworldly wife—when had she removed herself from the kotatsu?

The warmth upon her face is blossoming, and her steps are soft as she comes to beside him, "You have heard my husband, and with him I am telling you the same. Do not come here again. I will not stop him if he has to speak again."

There is power within her voice, and there is certainty within those viridian of hers, and it's all he needs to remove his fingers from the Uchiha woman's throat.

This spring nymph knew her place, and wore the title proudly. This ethereal creature he had broken would be his voice of reason when he had lost his temper, and show her loyalty to him by doing so. She had traveled in this marriage with him, and he feels as though this moment here is her silent reply to his desire to travel further within it.

His wife was not a weak woman— _she was anything but weak_.

The woman gives forth a cough at her release, and shifts at the etherial woman's words, and it is now that he grabs her wrist and yanks her forward from the door, "Apologize." he applies pressure upon her wrist as he speaks it with absolution. This woman had already apologized to him ease some of the self-loathing his wife hid from the world.

"I am sorry!" the woman is desperate to ask for forgiveness at the increasing pressure upon her wrist by the man she was meant to bare children.

Deep rich red shift from the woman to the spring nymph before him. Her fingers travel upon her bed robe and touch upon her heart as she gives a nod, "I forgive you. Have a good night, and travel safely." her voice is tender, and he knows she means it when she says she has forgiven the woman. He knows this because this is Sakura Uchiha, and she is kind to a fault.

He releases the Uchiha to have her run from his home, and he pays no mind to the fear stricken maid who watches as he captures his wife's hand within his to bring them back to their food, and warmth at the kotatsu. This woman was right where she needed to be— _right next to his side_ —and he would have no one challenge that. He will deal with Madara when the time comes, but for now they needed to resume within the nonexistent flow of time that was today. They need to resume this moment of him giving and her receiving.

It's as though they hadn't been interrupted. She resumes her small chatter as they bring the rest of the food to their mouths. His eyes dance upon her with each bite, and it's after the bowls are empty that he finds humor in her laying upon the mats covered by the kotatsu. His tea is warm within his mouth as he tells her not to fall asleep otherwise she'll catch a cold.

There is the most childish noise that comes from her and he gives forth a chuckle at her antics, and it has her raising to watch the barely used laugh fall from him. She's giving way to her own soft laughs now, and it's here that he hopes to have more days like this between them.

His clan and his village weren't built in a day, and his marriage wouldn't fix itself in a day either, but this was a start, and a new beginning. She would walk beside him. She would no longer walk behind him, and she would continue to do so from here on out.

 _Because that is what she deserved_.

* * *

Sakura has gone back to her medic relief, and he has gone back to the battlefield. They alternate, and then sometimes they are swapped out. Their home has fallen into good pace regardless of which one of them serves within this war. Winter has brought with it the fluff of white snow that desires to cover all that it can. The chill is worse this year, and flu has become a problem. It's what drives her to make sure she feeds him well when she can, and give him the best of medicines when he returns home. There is a motivation in him that had not been there before.

There is a feeling that she is the cause.

There is uncertainty if she has fully anchored him to the world, but it's okay because everything has to start somewhere. Word that he fights harder, and with much more precision than before hits her ears. This husband of hers is a god of war, a Guan Yu of his time, and now he was fighting with more purpose and more strength than those on the battlefield had expected. He had always been feared, but now they had much more to fear. A man with purpose, and a man with motivation is far more frightening than a man who goes into battle with no care for his life.

It's as she travels to the various medical camps that she sees more of the world than she previously had, and while it does not stop her eyes from glowing at the new sights she still prefers the small times that come when they are both home within their village.

Nothing could ever replace _home_.

They are given the opportunity to participate in Hatsumode again this year, and she gives her prayers for continued steps within her marriage, and hope for her clan within the midst of this never ending war. It's days after Hatsumode though that she receives a visit from her mother. It's unannounced, but welcomed. Sasuke is within their home when her mother arrives, and they tolerate each other better than they had before. There is hope that it has to do with his participation, and silent care during her father's untimely death. There is a certain level of business within the air though and while she enjoys catching up with her mother as her husband reads silently at the table there is also a need to understand her visit.

Her mother is the same as always though and after a long pause and a sip of her tea she speaks, "Sakura the New Year is approaching quickly." there is a smile upon her lips as she says this.

"It is. Sasuke-kun lets me hang things in celebration since I cannot come to visit."

"You've been picked to participate in the dances this year." her mothers voice is filled with pride as she sets her cup upon the kotatsu. The viridian that gaze at her glow with the news.

She is unsure how to answer as her eyes flicker to her husbands who have left the page he is reading to look upon her. She can tell he does not understand what her mother speaks of after all he knows only the little things she has given about her culture, "Mama I don't know if that's possible there is much for me to maintain here, and I've been busy with performing medic relief."

There is regret in her answer as her mother flickers her eyes to her husband and then back to her, "Sakura this is not something you can just push aside. It is a great privilege to have been picked."

"Mama you know I'm not just pushing this aside. I have other responsi—"

"Your father would have loved to see you do this. He had hoped to see you perform since you were a child." there is a silent plead behind her words.

"What are these dances?" her husbands words force their gaze from each other to him as he lays his book down where he had stopped. He had chosen to lean upon his fist until now, and opens to cradle his chin within his fingers.

"Well there are many different kinds that are performed with the coming of the New Year, and Lantern Festival. Lion, and Dragon dances are the most popular and are done to ward off evil, and pray for good fortune and safety. The Haruno clan, in specific, welcomes the coming of spring and call upon it by performing a sword dance that slays the evil that seeks to keep it from coming." there is a dip of her head as she explains and starts to write with her finger upon the table, "Haruno, written, means spring field, or blooming field. We're called upon and sought out because of this to bring forth the spring. The possibility to be nominated approaches when you are within your twentieth birthday."

"There is myth that if we do not perform it each year that spring will not come." her mother is quick to finish behind her as her pride continues to show through.

"So you would perform such dance. . . to welcome the spring?" his voice is even as he takes in the knowledge of his wife's customs. He does not care to look towards her mother for this. This is something that has brought his attention completely to her and only her.

"Ah, yes essentially. It is a prideful tradition within my fam—" she is cut short by her husband, and it causes her to be taken back by his words. He has told her to do it—to go and fulfill her family traditions, "Ah, but Sasuke-kun it will take me away from my duties here."

"Your mother has said your father would have liked to see you perform. Who are we too keep you from such things." his voice is even and calm as he replies to her reluctance.

"What about medic relief?" her brows have pinched at the ease in his agreeance. Sasuke, she knew, was kind but she would not expect him to let her leave to perform such things.

"I will send word that you are unavailable. Your New Year brings momentary cease fire in the war anyways. I'd like to see what it's all about." he gives a nod of his head as his fingers flip his book back over to continue reading that in which he had abandoned for only moments.

There is a tint of rose that dusts her cheeks at his words. Her husband wished to see her welcome the coming of spring, and with this it makes her want to perform the tradition. There is desire to have him gaze upon her within her culture, and all the traditions that she loved and grew up with. There is desire to make him proud of her, and her culture.

"Ah, so I won't have to reason with the boy." her mother seems almost amused as if she had thought she would have to persuade him to give her, her own daughter. He does not answer to his amused mother-in-law's teasing tone focused within his reading material.

"Mama!" she whines out almost childishly at her statement, "When am I expected to leave, and where is it being held?"

Her mother's smile grows, "It would be best to come within the week to begin preparation. It will be held in Konohagakure this year. There's a lot to learn."

She cannot help but let out the smallest of laughs at her mother. The pride her mother feels in these moments can only be second to her own. There was a lot to prepare for and a lot more to learn. It would be now that she would be the one captivating them all as she called for the spring, and welcomed it within the season.

Viridian give forth a fleeting gaze upon her husband. There had never been a thought that he would want to see and look upon her traditions so foreign from his own. There is a knowing look that decorates her face in this moment. He's putting forth the effort—he's been putting forth the effort. They're small advances, and small movements, but he's trying, and she could not have even asked for that. He continues to try to do more, and even in these tiny moments and tiny attempts of his she can't help but feel hopeful for their future.

The discussion has led them to the smallest of conversations. The business feel within the air has been lifted from them, and she couldn't be more thankful. It had been deep within the past when she had set eyes upon Konohagakure, and while it was her birth place she remembered little of it. Excitement has settled itself within her chest at this new chapter that would find its way into her life. Her husband would be able to see the things that her viridian had gazed upon so many years before her life with him. The golds, and reds she had spoke of would be all around him. The foods in which she had missed would be before him. The friends that had been beyond her grasp for so long would be there to gaze upon her and meet the man she was bound to. The smile that comes upon her lips is small, and silences her. Her mothers idle chatter is the furthest thing from her mind as she knows the journey is long.

The spring wife has lost track of time as she sees her mother to the door agreeing to be ready in half the time in her enthusiasm. He's behind her leaning against the wall with his eyes upon her form, and it's as she turns that she gives way to a smile with all of her enthusiasm, and joy pouring forth. Viridian cannot help but wish to give back some of the joy that he has given her with his approval.

This approval he has given her is just another of those things she would have never asked for. It's all she needs to put her all into this without distraction. She is to be one of the captivating individuals she had set her young eyes on. There was always a desire to become the dancer and all that they were. The memories that come from such traditions are always fresh during the New Year, and now she was picked to be one of them. There would be honor to her family for this, and honor to him for being the spouse of the coming of spring.

She hopes it's an honor he will wear proudly.

* * *

 **Author Note:**

Before we get into the more controversial part of this. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this, and reviewed. Legit though that kiss almost didn't happen. I seriously put myself in the readers POV for that. I thought about how angry I would be if I got to this point and they didn't kiss after all this. Originally they had only done forehead touches, but after reading it right after I wrote it, it just didn't seem fair. I would have been livid if I made it this far without something haha. Just to let you all know **Chapter 10 won't be released sometime until my birthday** due to cosplay taking complete priority at this point. I've gotten a lot done, but there's still a tone to do, and with Katsucon a little more than a month away it needs my complete attention to be done and ready by then (them horns killing me tbh). **My birthday is February 6th. I will update at some point that week**.

So, Chapter 9 is officially here and so is the literal answer to all of the "is Sasuke going to cheat" questions. I told a lot of you tonight that I was going finally say my piece on this whole other woman thing, and my thoughts behind it. Let me just be frank. I cannot begin to describe how badly I wanted to be _pettiest of_ _petty mcpetty_ over this whole damn thing. _I wanted to literally be the definition of petty_. _I wanted to straight up be what you see when you looked up the definition of petty_. This was the outcome of this whole thing since _day one_. _This was literally how it went down since September 30th, 2017_ when I uploaded this fic onto the web. This was _super legit 100%_ how I had this written out since _BEFORE_ I even agreed to start posting this fanfic on the web. As I said before, I cannot and do not have the ability to describe in detail how many times I literally told some of my closest friends ' _I should of made him cheat. Just to do it._ ' or ' _I wish I had made him cheat. I legit want to be that petty and go back and rewrite this'._ Now this isn't due to everyone. This is definitely due to some though. Every time someone wanted to drag me for this 'plot' device, if you can even really call it that, or someone wanted to jump up on their soap box as if they were gonna _teach me_ about cheating, and tell me about myself and my fic _it didn't make me want to not have him cheat_. _It literally did the opposite_. _It made me regret not making Sasuke cheat_. Thanks to all of my friends though I didn't do that. I didn't lower myself down to that level no matter how much I wanted to, and they literally reminded me time, and time again that this was my fic and I should do what I had set out to do. It actually became a HUGE joke amongst us all. Literally. I cannot stress this enough.

Examples of these jokes include but are not limited to, and I shit you not on this:  
 _I'll make this man cheat with every woman in the country. Do you know what petty is? You'll know what petty is when Sakura is devestated to find out Sasuke has children in over 200 different provinces, you asswipes._

 _Every time I hear one of you tell me that I'm in the wrong for not spoiling my story, I mentally figured out an even more fucked up way for Sasuke to cheat on Sakura._

 _OMG ARE U GOIN 2 MAEK DA SASUBOY CHEET?!_

That's how bad the jokes became for me, and them.

Seriously.

The thing that a lot of people seemed to miss was the fact that at no point was this ever stated to be a cheating fic. It has been since day one always been a marriage fic, and will continue to be a marriage fic. I cannot tell you how many times I went back and re-read this fic and I literally could point out every time I literally gave away that Sasuke was not going to cheat _without actually spelling it out_. I foreshadowed it consistently. The other thing that needs to be pointed out is this seriously was the most minor plot of this entire thing. This was literally a pebble on this road. Shit dudes, it was a goddamn dust particle, and yet for some reason people could not avoid focusing on it. It is by far the most minuscule thing in this, and yet people were _telling me off_ , people were getting _angry with me_ , people were _literally DRAGGING me and claiming I evidently didn't know shit about cheating, or this series_. Fun fact. Out of the 13 significant others I've had (this includes boyfriends in school before I had even become sexually active) I have been cheated on by literally all but 2. I know about cheating. I am very knowledgeable on that topic. _I've been there_. _It's happened_. I don't need _educated_ on it. As someone who has been cheated on it also literally blows my mind how many people literally wanted Sakura to cheat and drop herself down to that level _if_ Sasuke cheated.

That was my feelings on this. That was my thoughts on this. I had zero care for this event at the end of the day because for me it was that minor. It only became a huge issue because people made it an issue.

I digress, though. It's over with. It's done. All of us, myself included, can move on from this.

Onto reviewers because those always make me excited when I can finally respond to the guests.

 **G _uest, who was listening to Queen B_** \- MY DUDE. YAAAS THROW THEM HANDS. LISTEN TO THAT QUEEN B. SLAY. NOW EXCUSE ME WHILE I SCREAM FORMATION FROM THE TOP OF THE HIGHEST BUILDING AND TALLEST TOWER~ I see it, I want it, I stunt, yellow bone it. I dream it, I work hard, I grind 'til I own it. Okay all that shit aside dude lemme know what you thought of the newest chapter I totes loved your review.  
 **Blossom, and everyone who wished me a good holiday, and new year** \- Hope all of you had some of the sweet R&R this holiday season, and that 2018 has been treatin you all well.  
 **Bj** \- whenyoucallmeAuthor-sanitmakesmegiggleallembarrassed. Let me screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam with you, my dude. Ball was and is still technically in Sauce's court.  
 **Guest, who talked about the SS faithfulness** \- Sauce babes is the purest of pure lets be honest. Only BeatOneHeart beats him (she's legit like if purity had a human form. True story). Chapter that made me cry is in like one or two chapters from here.  
 **Guest, who brought up me distancing myself** \- My dude omg I felt so bad when I saw your review. I totally didn't explain myself well and I legit wanted to respond to you so bad the minute I saw your review. I actually responded to you via tumblr, but readers digest was that it's not that I wanted to create distance with all of you reading but more I want to have more distance between what is posted online, and what is in the actual document. Once you guys catch up to me the wait time for chapters increases. I'm super sorry I didn't explain myself properly.  
 **777** \- Dude you're adorable, please continue to review ahhh  
 **TheDailyRoutine -** Character development can really begin now.  
 **Guest, who decided to stop reading** \- No dude totes understand. Thank you for your time up until now, and I completely respect your decision. In no way, shape, or form were you one of those mentioned above just so you know. I mean it when I tell you thank you for your time. I appreciate you coming this fdar with me and I hope that you continue to read and enjoy all kinds of fanfiction. I appreciate it. Seriously. Thank you.  
 **Nute** \- All of them need a break, but I'm a shitlord so that's not gonna happen OTL #shot  
 **CruddleDuds** \- Dude your review is legit the cutest thing ever. It was adorable just reading all the different things you were feeling throughout chapter 8. I cannot wait and hope you'll do the same for chapter 9.  
 **Guest, who said this was lit** \- You know what else is lit? You. Thank you for reviewing!  
 **Guest, who be speakin my language** \- HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOE GET THAT ASS OFF GUEST. I NEED YOU IN MY LAIFU. PLEASE AND THANK YOU. LIKE FUUUUUUUUUUUUU. I literally let out the most inhuman noise when I saw your review. PLEASE BE MY FRIEND. LIKE WHAT DO I HAVE TO GIVE FOR THIS? I'LL HAND OVER THE KEY TO MY GHETTO ASS CITY. YOU GOT DISCORD? HOW ABOUT TUMBLR? WHAT ABOUT A CUERVO WITH NO CHASER? YOU WANT MY DIGITS? I'LL DROP THAT SHIT SO HARD. Bby girl got her apology don't chu worry my dude, my friend, my fucking homie. I gottchu, my dude. I GOTTCHU. DON'T. YOU. FUCKIN. WORRY. #FISTBUMP


	10. The Mother & Father

x.x.x

 **Chapter 10**  
The Mother & Father

* * *

There was reluctance in letting her pass through his gates without his protection. It had caused words to lump within his throat wishing to remove the approval he had given. He knows he cannot take this from her, and it's only with the control he has learned to maintain throughout his years upon the earth that he keeps his thoughts from entering the air around them. He cannot allow his selfishness to get in the way. Her viridian had showed her joy at being picked, and who was he to ruin that joy? Who was he to give into the paranoia of her leaving his side?

Days into her leaving he feels his home becoming far too quiet with her no longer consistent presence. The silence has nothing to do with the loss of her chatter—she was loud in an entirely different way. Everything about her drew you to her. She could not be missed. She could not be silenced in presence alone. All of her called out to anyone who stood before her.

There is chiding within his mind that her leaving was no different than her medic relief— _except she only had one Uchiha guarding her as she walked outside his walls now_.

There is no camp filled with allies, and brothers-in-arms to protect her. He could not give her more with the battles that shook the world outside their home.

He would not allow himself to give into the thoughts that threaten him within. She had left calm and drenched in joy. She did not leave his side thick within disdain. She had not left his side filled with anguish. Their marriage was far from recovered and far from being what it should have been— _no, what it could have been_ —but there would be time to build it to that state. Time would still allow him such things when the moment was right.

 _Shisui would protect her so that he could have those moments_.

The hawk he sends forth from within his garden sends but a simple reply. Madara has called for him, and he is all to certain he knows what matter is to be discussed. He had blatantly disobeyed him in bedding the Uchiha woman—he had reprimanded, he had placed his wife before her, and he had _attacked_ her in his demands for an apology no less. There would be punishment. He would accept it on behalf of himself, and his wife. She had continued forward, and she had swallowed herself for him. He would do so for her just as she had done for him. It would be another apology. It would be silent. It would be unheard. It would be unspoken, but it would be there within himself.

The hours that countdown his leave are barely felt, and the sleep he had managed to succumb to leaves just as fast. His bags are handle by maids and there's a hint of longing within him as he wraps the bandages on his arms. It seeks to remind him she has left days prior. Careful soft fingers are not there to bring them around his knuckles. There's no catching the hum that escapes him, and it's as he heads for the gates that he catches himself noting her missing in wishing him safe travel.

There's no denying how much she had become a part of his world. All of these things are small, but they're significant no less.

Only one of his best men comes to travel beside him leaving their home behind to attend to Madara's call. He could only give her one to seek to her safety in travel and he would not grant himself anymore than he had granted her. She is traveling so much further than he is. He is but a day and a half from his destination. There is no doubt she should almost be within the gates of Konohagakure as he stepped foot within Madara's home.

The sound of their feet hitting upon thick branches sets an even pace. The sun that had barely rose to wish them off only seeks to rise higher and light the way. This shinobi speaks with hope, and with underlying fears. It's filled with the smallest desires. He is not one to truly join in but shares his own chuckle within the joke that spills out next. These moments are just as with his wife—small but no less significant.

They are a reminder and a sound one at that. This is what he fights for. He fights for their peace and for their clan. Ideology paints it as so much more. It paints it red and caked with dirt. It paints it as power verse love. It paints it into something so much darker and complex than it ever should have been. It was no doubt smaller when you got to its core, and dig through the layers of paint that have built up in these long ten years.

The home of their leader is large, and immaculate beyond conception following the traditional style they all modeled and practiced. The maid who greets them welcomes them with ease as they lower their hoods upon their shoulders. The cold no longer chills their faces, fingers, and bones as they are lead down the hall and into the room that holds Madara and his brother. They conversing only lowering their already hushed voices as they trail in.

Others sit within the room their presence unexpected but not unwelcome. Perhaps this meeting had not been as he believed. Perhaps the punishment he had willingly walked into was not meant to come.

It thickens the air with a touch of uncertainty and a chaste kiss of hesitation follows. Izuna casts a fleeting look his way before welcoming them. There is the idle chatter that comes as they stand within the room before making way to their seats. Sitting at his place among the table of Madara's high rank makes his companion sit behind him in silence. He starts the meeting as though it is more official than Sasuke had realized. Their eyes fall upon their leader instructing them on matters concerning the peace talks. The update holds no useful information for men like himself, who were only of use in battle. Talks of peace were as misguided as the hope that love could be what brings it. All he needed was the thoughts and feelings of his clansmen and people to push him forward. He would wage war for them and allow others to dabble in such conversations.

"Sasuke-san, your wife is participating in the Lantern festival from what you've said?" Madara crosses his arms as he gives into the small detail among the table. His response is but a simple nod forward before Madara continues, "Since it's Sakura-san it only seems fitting we shall attend after the meeting."

He cannot stop himself from eyeing his leader with uncertainty. Never had there been genuine interest in the traditions outside of their own. There is a thick swallow to accompany the uncertainty weighing upon his chest, "Do not feel forced to attend."

"Nonsense. After all, she has been providing medical relief for our men. The least we can do is watch her perform. I hear the ceremony for the coming of spring is one of a kind." Madara's voice is questionable as he leans upon the table with knuckles pressed against his chin.

"Senju will be everywhere since it's held in their territory." Obito's voice rings throughout the room speaking of the obvious, and it's as Sasuke gives a fleeting look upon the fellow Uchiha that he finds his brows pinched at the revelation.

It would be a ceasefire, and no doubt a time when they would hold to their words and walk among each other in celebration of this foreign New Year. If his brother were to appear would he be able to keep his word? The thought brings a bitter and foul taste into his mouth. He would have no choice but to tolerate his existence. The whispers of battle that would echo within his being—requesting and pleading for him to take revenge upon the traitor connected by blood—would be ignored.

Kagami gives forth a snort, "This wife of yours has made quite the name for herself after being just a woman of convenience."

He does not answer with anything more than a look to the Uchiha boy decorated in a grin upon his lips. It's as he threads his fingers to hold his chin that the slow desire to defend his wife from claims of convenience find their way into the air. He silences Izuna's attempt to respond to Kagami, "My wife is not just one of convenience."

It hushes the room, and it is Madara who lets a low hum fall within the silence, "I look forward to seeing such during the Lantern Festival." their leader raises his head from his almost lackadaisical lean upon his knuckles. There is a look between him and his leader, and it's then that he knows there is more for him after the meeting. He had not been wrong. His punishment was, in fact, before him.

 _He would take it gladly_.

"Hiashi-san, and I will be attending to go over details of a possible peace treaty with Hashirama. Those of you who wish to attend the festivities held within Konohagakure are welcome but are to not raise arms or cause disturbance during the ceasefire under any circumstance." his words hold command within them under the guise of simple conversation that no one dares to join, "Those of you who do not attend spend so with family, and friends. Even with the talk of peace in the air do not forget we are at war, and peace talks never signal the end until decisions and compromise on both sides have been met."

Izuna leads in behind his brother with ease seeming to be the one who does not find his brothers rule silencing, "Sasuke-san, you especially must follow these commands. Itachi-san will most likely be at the negotiations and events. We cannot have them claiming we broke the ceasefire. Traitor or not."

He cannot stop himself from gritting his teeth at the name of his traitor of a brother. He cannot stop the tightening of his threaded fingers whiten his knuckles. The clearing of his throat only tenses the air, "I understand."

The meeting opens to any questions those attending have, and no one dares give way to any ill feelings they hold about the conditions set forth concerning the negotiations. Madara has no need to give them guarantees of what he will bring to the table. Their leader knows exactly what they demand, and knows exactly what they should receive.

It's after the others have left, and it is just him and his companion that he dismisses him with orders to meet at the gate within the hour. He stands before his leader, and his leader's brother—the only line still standing within his dominate family tree with the loss of his mother, father, and traitorous brother—ready to defend his choices and decisions to this point.

 _He stands ready to receive his punishment_.

"She was not to your liking?" Madara's voice gives no true question. He is making a statement more than anything and rhetorical one at that, "Or maybe your wife has something to do with it?"

Swallowing thickly he gives way to an answer, "It was my decision. She holds no control over what I do."

"Sasuke. We understand there was a fight between the two of them." Izuna crosses his arms upon his chest as he locks gazes with him choosing to lean upon the paper walls, "From what she's told us you made her apologize to Sakura-san."

His jaw tightens at the statement never wavering his ebony from the almost identical pair that looks to him, "I have made it clear since I was forced to marry her that there would be no ill will against her. I cannot have them look down upon her if I need her to lead them within my absence. Any ill will to her shows ill will to my leadership."

His leader lets out the slightest of hums as if understanding his position. There is a moment of looks between the Uchiha brothers before gazing back upon him, "Tell me then what you choose to do from here."

Ebony shift from his leader for the briefest of moments before looking back to him cautious of what to say next, "My parents did not live in adultery and I hold no plans—"

"So you hold no interest in having an heir?" Izuna's voice holds no room for halfhearted explanations. It brings forth the memory of the otherworldly creature that is his wife holding a child of Uchiha blood as she comes to him— _it remains an impossibility_.

A flick of his tongue behind his teeth does little to restrain the lividity within his tone. It's harsher than intended to those above him, "I did not choose this political marriage."

Why do you continue to follow blindly at his call?

There is no backing down from his position. He had done all that he had been asked of at this point with no hesitation. He had done everything to uphold his position as heir in the case of their passing. He had done all that he could for his clan repeatedly—time and time again. To commit adultery where his parents had not would shame not only his wife, but him, and those he lived to avenge. These were not choices he had made. If an heir was their concern they should have picked someone else to marry the ethereal woman that was his wife.

He was who they had chosen and he would follow his role properly. There would be no tolerance in his continued failure to be proper husband.

There is a shake to Madara's head before he gives way to an exhale, "You cannot bed her, but you can continue as you are. I do this _only_ out of respect for Mikoto. If it was anyone else there would be no choice in this matter. Disobedience would not be tolerated."

There is anger and disdain for the man before him who continues to rule upon his choices as he sees fit. The claim of allowing him to forgo the adultery in the name of his mother—of his leader's long since deceased sister—is all he needs to hear before dismissing himself to keep his anger within check. To anger and fight Madara would be to go against his clan, and he would never allow himself to do so. Doing so would be taking his brothers path. His clan and his people were forever the priority, and now even more so was _she—_ he could not have punishment fall upon her for his choices _._

Lucky— _it's how he should feel and yet, he does not_.

Many who disobeyed Madara could not stand as tall as he does now heading for the gate with the snow that falls softly before him. His mother continues her protection of him. Bitterness rises in his chest at his need to still be protected. Fingers roughened through battle run through his hair as his scowl deepens. He was no longer a mere child of war. He was a man that was feared. He was a man that conquered. He had slaughtered those that would take the lives of his family, clan, and people who followed their beliefs. His strong stride stops before the gate taking in the cold air that seeks to chill his being. That same chilled air burns within his chest as the frosty air enters his lungs.

Ebony cannot stop themselves from looking upon the gray sky above that continues to give way to the winter season. He cannot stop the longing he holds for his mother. He would pray to her again when he returned home thanking her. He would thank her for all the protection she has ever given him, and all that she continues to give him. Even in death she stood there holding his hand. Even in death she would see to her child. Even when he had accepted punishment she would keep him from such harm.

A shudder leaves his mouth as he thinks of her. He could not ask her for advice, and he could not go to her when he had troubles. He could not truly hold her hand down this path. He could, though, continue to pave a way so others would not suffer the same loss he had. He could continue to make sure that young Uchiha children would never have to have their mother's protection in death. He could give them something better. He could give them the ability to hold their mother's hand within the world of the living.

He would give them the ability.  
He would give them the chance.  
He would win for them.

His fingers squeeze and it's in that moment that he can truly feel her as if she stands beside him. He can feel her hand in his, and he can feel his chest tighten with her hand in his. Death was giving him this moment—it was giving him this _precious_ moment to stand beside her.

His mother's name carried the meaning of precious— _she was undoubtedly precious_.

A mother's love was unbelievably deep.

The spring wife had asked him if it was true that the Uchiha loved deeply. He even now does not know if that remains true, but he does know that his mother had loved him deeper than any ocean, and stronger than any fire. He knows that she would have done anything for him. He knows that she continues to do everything for him.

She had loved him. She had loved him so much. Never would she have willingly left his side.

She would have continued to ease his heart, and she would have continued to erase his doubts.

She continues to do those things no matter how far he goes.

 _He truly had never been luckier_.

* * *

Excitement does not begin to explain the feeling dancing within her heart as her mother, Shisui, and herself make their way to the gates. Her mother has fallen into bright spirits with the earthbound Uchiha male so unlike the stoic ones they knew far to frequently.

The chatter that overcomes them is easy to follow, and the conversations amusing. There are no disputes. There are no arguments over politics. There are no quarrels over ideals.

It's peaceful. It's welcomed. It's what everyone should have. It's proof that this could be something within their grasp if not for this war. It's proof that a world of peace can truly exist in a world that only seemed to know war.

There is curiosity in how Konohagakure will look. Memories of her birthplace nonexistent within her mind. Far too young, and far too innocent she was back then to remember such things. Relatives had always come to them. They had never sought to visit, and as her age increased so did her distance with the place only newly born and newly welcomed into the world viridan had been given the privilege to see.

"Sakura-san, a friend of mine will be meeting us shortly. Do you mind if I take the time to speak with him?"

Her walk does not falter as she turns to look upon him, "Oh? You have company in Konohagakure?"

"We are separated by our ideals, but we still keep in touch." he responds easily.

"I don't see why we couldn't." she gives way to a smile as her viridian fall upon the gates once more.

Their steps take them closer. It's impossible to miss her cousin's wave, or the eye catching green clad male beside her. The smile that stretches upon her lips is large, and gives way to hurried steps wanting to be with them quicker. The scolding her mother speaks is ignored sprinting to wrap her arms around her cousin. There's giggles and tight hugs. Her cousin's voice is high as she tells her she missed her. The closeness they once had shared still within its rightful place even with their lives so separated.

It's as they begin to catch up in hurried voices soaked with excitement that she hears the subtle interruption of her guard. He's cleared his voice, "Ah, Sakura-san. I'd like you to meet my friend."

Viridian full of interest turn to look at who it is that Shisui continues to hold close even as war separates them. She wonders if it is a Senju she had met in passing, or an Uzumaki she's treated. It's as those viridian turn that she cannot stop her smile from slipping. She cannot stop her eyes from becoming wide, and she cannot stop her heart from halting within its beat.

He's all the familiar hereditary looks. Endless ebony strands with endless ebony eyes, and pale skin that contrasts almost painfully against her coloring. The lackadaisical look upon his face is all the more familiar, and it's as her mind is running that she wonders if the Gods have played a cruel joke upon her.

She can only wonder if the Gods found humor in _endlessly_ tormenting her.

"Sakura-san, meet Itachi. Itachi Uchiha."

Her heart is held so painfully by these Gods intended to turn her world forever upside down and inside out. She cannot stop the twist of her surroundings bringing her back to her father's body falling to the floor as she had gazes upon the man before her. She would never— _could never_ —erase the look upon his face as her father fell before her. Such little care had been across those hereditary features.

Such _little remorse_.  
Such _loss of heart_.  
Such _nonexistent feeling for those who hurt by his hand_.

He no sooner would have discussed the weather with her as blood covered the floor and life fled from her father. This male held no remorse for his acts, and he had held no heart before her in a world filled with fire. He had looked as plainly at her now as he had back then.

 _The Gods must truly have found endless humor in her anguish_.

Fingers curl within her palm as she feels her body set ablaze with a sense of loathing she did not know she could possess. This loathing that dares to possess her is volatile, seething, and unrelenting. Brows pinch, and her jaw tightens as these feelings bloom throughout her being in waves that desire to submerge this male, and herself. The fire that had torn Kusagakure asunder ghosts across her skin, and the wounds she had received as they had destroyed her home burn just as hot with each passing second. There is the hint upon her knuckles from where they had collided with the earth making it cry out. It echoes throughout the air unheard by all who stand with her. It echoes so loud she questions if she'll go deaf.

"Sakura-chan?" the male clad in green calls out upon seeing her features change.

This man has captured her effortlessly, and it takes all the restraint she has to offer to keep her from lunging for his throat— _so cruelly_ would she love to dig her fingers within his mouth to remove the lackadaisical expression from his features so painfully similar to her _husband_. There is recognition within those ebony. The recognition of that time comes with each small movement of his eyelids. The contempt she feels is begging for release at the base of her throat as she continues to hold the ebony within her viridian, and then all in a moment she feels the air slammed from her lungs. This man—this _man_ before her—was her husband's _deeply_ loved sibling. The sibling so adored, and the sibling who had been the role model for her husband. This was the sibling he fought against. This was the traitor within _their_ clan that had hurt her husband to depths that she could only now begin to understand. This sibling had hurt her husband, and slain her father. This man had brought so much pain within her world. He had brought her tears, and her husband's hatred.

He was undeniably someone her husband had dared to love _deeply_ , and in return he had brought it down _without care_.

For every moment her husband had dared to love this sibling had taught him betrayal. For every moment she had dared to believe that men of war were not inhumane he had proven it wrong eyes that held no heart.

 _The myths had done her husband no justice for this man stole all of it_.

"Sakura, where are your manners?" her mother's fingers have gripped her shoulder and it's the only thing that makes her tear her gaze from him finally released from the chaos that was Kusagakure.

The wild beat of her heart is in full force as she desperately attempts to swallow the hurt, and loathing that threatens to drag her into turmoil. The tug upon her heart is laced with torment, and anguish. It's far more powerful than what she could have thought possible. It's far more petulant that she could have ever imagined. It's far more deadly than she could have ever fathomed. It had come with an absolute vengeance for daring to think she could obtain any semblance of peace within this war. Bitter, and with eyes that dare to sting she feels the air constrict within her throat.

How much more could these people _take_ from her?  
How much more could they _ask_ of her?  
How much _more_?  
How much?

The desire that coaxes her heart could not be done.

Giving into the hatred, the anguish, and the raw lividity would alleviate such petulant torment, and yet, there is _fear_ just on the other side. There is fear of her husband's eyes upon her after hearing she had harmed the one he had dared to _adore_ within his blissful innocence as a child. There is fear of her husband having to answer for attacking within Senju territory. There is fear that she will not come back from this raw lividity. There is fear that she will no longer no herself.

 _There is fear she will be the one without a heart_.  
It is all too much— _there is too much at stake_.

Shisui shifts to move toward her with concern decorating him, "Sakura-san, are you alright?"

Fingers painfully press harder within her palm, nails digging into her skin as she attempts to speak without choking, "Excuse me, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Sakura. Uchiha Sakura."

His brow has raised at her name, and there is scrutiny within his ebony as he seems to digest her. Flickering his gaze to Shisui, "I'm sure you heard about Sasuke-san's marriage. This is his wife."

The lackadaisical expression has disappeared at her title and in its place startle has taken over his features. There's no missing the tightening of his jaw, and the shift within his frame. The silence between them is loud, and it echos in her ears just as loud as the memory of her knuckles crashing down upon their earth the _first_ time they had met.

"Sakura-san, you look pale? Are you exhausted from the travel?" fingers find their way upon her arm as obsidian try to obtain her viridian. He is giving her a way out, and she is no fool—she will absolutely take this moment to remove herself from this man.

" _Please_." her voice comes out far more pained than she had intended, and it's Shisui who places a hand upon her head, "I'm so very tired."

She begs, and pleads to not let the tears fall that burn her eyes. Her mother's frantic voice is but background noise as they excuse themselves, and head for her cousin's home. The feel of those ebony upon her back as they leave him at the gate are impossible to ignore. It only seeks to further terrorize her heart. It only seeks to shake her being. It only seeks to allow her to dance within the idea of digging her hand deep within his—No. No, no, no she would not allow herself to soil her heart. She would not allow herself to become _him_.

 _Disgust_ —she feels it radiate within her being.  
You _never_ needed a reason to _love_.  
You _only_ needed reason to _hate_ , and _hatred_ consumed.

This is what had consumed so many during the war. The sharp ache that had found a home within her heart only seeks to become stronger with such feelings and yet, she cannot bring herself to cast them aside.

What god had she angered to _deserve_ such a thing?  
What cruelty had she committed to have her husband's brother be the one who held no hesitation in _cutting down_ her father?  
What misdeed did she perform to have him give so little care to those he _murdered_?

It's within the room that her cousin had prepared that she finally lashes out as fingers come upon her hand, "Let go of me." the words are bitter and venomous— _they seek to hurt_.

She wants to hurt. She wants everyone to feel what she has endured.

Who was she to be the only one to shelter pain?  
 _It's not their fault though_.

They are not the ones who continued to pray upon her so cruelly.

"Sakura-san, what has you so upset?" the obsidian haired male had barely flinched at her vexation.

"Leave me. Go. Get away from me." her voice is raising as she spouts each word, " _All of you_." her viridian glow within her hatred as she looks upon those at the door who are painted in hurt, and shock upon her words.

They cannot understand her behavior. They cannot understand her vexation. They cannot understand her venom. She would never let them understand. She could not let them understand. She will not let them understand. None of them give way to movement, and it's in that, that she feels the last of her snap with a hiss of her voice, "Go, I said!"

The echo of her cry within the home has washed away the excitement. It has brought with it anxiousness, and hurt that paints itself upon every wall, and every door. It paints the room and it paints their beings. It paints her so violently, and it paints her so unforgiving. The whispers that fill the air beyond those doors cannot be heard outside of muffled hums. The room has lost its warmth, but the chill is numb upon her skin as she sits within her terror. She cannot find a clear answer as she sits upon the floor with her knees pressed within her chest. The tears that had burned have found their way down.

Her mind runs, and even as it tumbles it shifts between thoughts so fast, and so carelessly she finds herself losing herself entirely. Panicked, and lost with such muddled thoughts she cannot stop herself from falling deeper down the rabbit hole that is hatred. She hates so much, and she cannot find the part of her that dared to love, and dared to find the answers so hopeful, and so wishful.

Who was more important in these moments?  
Her husband, or her father?

Who was to be the one that would decide what she did now? To do nothing would shame her father. To do anything would shame her _husband_ —the title is bitter, and it holds so much disdain. Disdain that she did not know she could feel for him once _again_. Blaming him is unwarranted, but she cannot stop herself from doing so. Hating him would be easy in these moments. Hating him would make the choice easier. Hating him would bring honor to her fallen father.

 _Hating him could be so easy_.

There is a pull on the hood of her cloak she had never removed. The fingers bring it down from its place in almost a tender motion. Her teeth grind at the touch, and lividity runs through her veins at someone disobeying her, "Itachi-san has angered you."

Shisui's voice is soft as he kneels behind her, "Go."

"Sakura-san, I do not know what he has done to you. He's hurt you somehow, but I cannot allow you to sit here like this. Sasuke-san—"

"Don't you _dare_ say that cruel man's name." her head has whipped to look at him so close to her. His eyes show he was not prepared for such a hostile reaction upon hearing her husband's name, and then there is something that she cannot place that follows in its place.

"Sakura-san, who is being cruel right now?" his voice is even as the glow of her viridian gaze upon him with fury.

"All of you are cruel. You only seek to hurt everyone around you with this war. You only seek to destroy. You are _mons_ —"

"Sakura-san!" she has never heard his voice raise in such anger in all the times they have traveled together. She has gone too far—she has bred such a response within her turmoil, "You dare to say we are cruel and yet, here you sit pushing everyone aside. You sit here and you cast your family, and mother within another room as if they are to blame. You take them for granted, and you cast them without _care_. I _ask_ you again, _who_ is being cruel right now?"

" _I have lost everything_." her voice breaks within her withdraw from him, "Who else could be _cruel_ enough to have me marry a man who's sibling would kill my father?" the words are vulnerable and hit the air before she can stop them.

Fingers find their way within her rose-colored locks, "You know Sasuke-san was not the one who made that choice. You know Madara-sama held no part in Itachi-san killing your father. None of them could have known—just as Itachi-san could not have known that you had married his brother, and he had killed your father." his voice has come down from the anger that had laced it. It's pleading with her in a hushed tone, and seeking to console her, "All of us—Uchiha, Senju, and everyone else who fights—have killed someone, and hurt others with our actions. We do not know if those people will become close to us. None of us would ever wish to hurt those close to us. It is all we can do, though, as we put our lives on the line."

The solemnity rings within the silence. She was the cruel one once more. She sat here blaming. She sat here hating. She sat here loathing. She was cursing them, and slandering them. She was taking her hurt out upon them all. She was the one with such little care. She was being selfish—but how long had she pushed herself to be selfless?

This was the harsh reality of war. War robbed loved ones. It made the light from their eyes vanish. It put hurt within the world around them. It took without remorse. It forced friends to clash, and—

 _It forced families to fight against each other_.

"Has Sasuke-san, truly been cruel to you?" the question quakes her being. It sends anguish throughout her with the gravity of what she has said, and what she has called him.

Overwhelmed.  
Heart pounding.  
Heavyhearted.

Nothing can describe the unbelievable sadness that washes over her with that question.

If I could bring all of that pain you hide onto myself I would do so.

She had said that so easily. They had fought. They had disagreed. He had made her cry. He had been cold to her. Yet, never— _not once in this marriage_ —had he ever been _cruel_. He did not do malicious things to her. He did not do things out of spite. He did not show disdain towards her.

That single statement had been true when she had spoken it. She wished to take his pain from him. This man fought to protect those that followed him. He fought for peace in his own way. He fought with no anchor in the world. He had been a victim of war just as much as she now was. He had truly lost those he loved _deeply_. _This feeling_ — _this moment_ — _this hatred_ that she had allowed to consume her— _this is what had made him who he was today_. She had asked him to love her, and here with just a _taste_ of that hatred his world was soaked in she had cursed and spoken harshly of him— _of all of them_.

How could she possibly ask him to love someone so cruel?

How had this man survived to this day with such a feeling?

A shuddered breath.  
A silent cry.  
A whispered apology.

All of it is what fills this room as she is gathered within her guards arms. He is warm—all the things she was meant to be. He was calming—all of what she tried to be.

"Sasuke-san would punish me for letting you get hurt." it's his laugh that's low and hinted upon every word that brings a smile to her tear stained face as she continues to battle the slowly dissipating turmoil.

"I'll be sure to keep such a thing from him."

Because, Sasuke Uchiha, would no doubt protect her.

It's long after she has made her way from the room with her hand in his, long after she gives heavyhearted apologies to those she had spat venom at, and long after the warmth has found its way within her cousin's home once more that she accepts that her pain is still there. There's no denying it's grip upon her. This was not something that could be rendered with reasoning. Her husband had traveled far down this path. He had hated, and he had been consumed for such a long time. He had been his brother for many. He had gazed down upon those he killed in the name of war with such a lack of care. He had hurt, and he had been hurt. She had barely walked a mile in his shoes, and she needed to travel so much further.

 _Compassion, and warmth were nothing without understanding_.  
 _Understanding could not be found without feeling_.

She held the poison that had infected so many firmly within her, and now she truly could understand why he held such little care for talks of peace. This rage. This hurt. This suffering. All of it could not be eased with just words. He sought out vengeance, and he sought to make sure none within his domain felt what he had felt. In his conquest he had cast aside the love he had dared to feel so deeply. He had pushed others aside, and now she, too, had done just the same. He had lashed out upon those who sought to help him, and now she, too, had done just the same. He had no longer sought to reach out for help, and she now, too, had refused to reach for a hand to save her from this poison so lethal.

He had truly gone the distance. She had truly been so blind.

She had sought to understand. He had cast his eyes from a world of love long ago.  
 _She understood_.

The days that come after do not ease the spread of this poison called hatred, and it's at night that she gazes upon the ceiling lost and flushed in lividity. Her heart is torn in two. She knows it is not her husband's fault, but here she sits within the dead of the night blaming him silently. Shisui had never lied in what he had said. Her husband had been many things, but she would have never looked upon him as cruel. She was shifting blame. She was looking for a reason to _hate_.

 _That man was the one who had slain her father_.  
 _Not her husband_.

More acceptance comes within the following days. It does not ease her hatred for her husband's sibling. Her husband's involuntary reactions when his brother was mentioned are perfectly clear. She understands far more than she would have ever dreamed why he held such hostility when it came to his brother. This man had done so much to her husband.

What would her husband say if she dared to tell him that he had taken her father—his father-in-law—away from them?

Viridian never stop searching, and her mind has yet to stop running. She had sought out an answer for this hatred and these feelings within her anguish when she had fallen within this rabbit hole.

She will continue to search for the answer she had sought within her anguish.  
She has to keep searching. This is not just for husband.  
She has to find this answer for herself. This is also for her.

The lesson has been taught, and the feelings understood. There's pain in knowing that she had unknowingly asked for so much from her husband the night they had fought when she had fallen before him. She had asked him for all of him, and now she truly held more of him than she ever felt possible. She had asked to be his anchor, and she had asked him for love. How could she ask him for love when now she knew how addictive this poison could be?

If she could not cure herself then she could not cure him.

Yet, forgiveness meant to accept her father's death by a man so uncaring. She could not do such a thing. She would not do such a thing.

 _She would be selfish_.  
 _Her husband's selfishness now just another thing she could understand_.

It's three days deep, and then before she realizes it another two days have passed. Seven days come without warning, and then without even so much as a 'hello' it's on the thirteen day that she unknowingly has come upon her answer.

Practice for the coming of spring has come to an end. Her muddled mind has continued to halt her progress. She is far from ready—she has let Itachi Uchiha continue to take things from her.

 _She's letting him take this from her as well_.

She expects to be scolded just as she has every day since this had begun. Fingers come upon her shoulder, and it's what drags her eyes, stinging with unshed frustrated tears, to the male, who continues to be patient with her. Her jaw dips ready to give an apology, "Kakashi-san, I—"

He never once has blamed her for her lack of progress. She had dared to wonder if it was because they had known each other well before now. She had healed him. She had healed him several times. He had come to her when his wife had been harmed in combat. He had come to her when he would be passing through to his next battle.

Here they were now. Standing within this room so large with wooden floors. He's yet to pry, and she's yet to explain herself. There's no mistake that he's being bias and hoping whatever has her within its grips will work itself out. There's no mistake that she needs to find her answer. She needs to find the cure.

The sun that seeks to rest for the night paints the sky outside, and cast it's dimming light within the room through the window. It provides no warmth outside of these walls. It could not fight off the chill outside that awaits her. Another set of fingers find their way to her shoulder, and there's a comfort to these two men allowing her to work through her problems even as so much is placed upon her shoulder. Shisui, too, has been patient—she hopes it's because he understands. Her bottom lip quivers as she seeks to finish what she had intended to say, but she's rendered silent as the doors open. This person does not knock and his voice is loud.

This voice. It's undeniably warm.  
It's just as she recalls, and it brings her muddled mind to a halt.

She's captured before she even knows it. Viridian flutter as she takes in the large grin she had only known once before. He's all the bright blonde, and vibrant azure eyes she recalls deep within the forest. He's all the warmth that the sun refused to give.

He is so much like the sun in the summer.

"Kakashi-sensei, how much lo—Sakura-chan?" the widening of those eyes so bright, and azure follow his question, and arms once placed behind his head begin their slow descend to his sides.

"Naruto-san?" she feels _vulnerable_ in front of this man—and she cannot begin to understand why he has such a presence.

He's next to her immediately with brows pinched in concern. She's not sure if it was her face, or voice that gave away the mess that was her mind, and heart. They are enemies and yet, he comes to her side without thought. He comes to her as if they had known each other forever. He comes to her as if he is her _friend_.

She's not sure what continues to make her follow in actions that her husband would scold her for, "I—Shisui, I want to go with him."

Fingers tighten upon her shoulder as viridian make their way to ebony, "Sakura-san, I cannot leave you with him."

"It'll be fine." there's a shift in this male as breathes out, "I'll take full responsibility should anything happen. Keep in mind that even as she wears the Uchiha crest this is neutral territory for now. No one would dare to harm her here. Not with the ceasefire approaching so close. She is, after all, our _guest_ for the festival."

Hesitation lingers but those fingers once so secure begin to lessen their pressure upon her shoulder, "Shisui. _Please_."

Sakura cannot explain herself. She cannot begin to understand why there is so much comfort that comes from this man. She cannot understand why he does not say 'no' to her following behind him down these streets he knows so well, and that she's begun to learn. He's quiet at first and then he's chattering away as if they are just as she had felt before— _friends_.

He doesn't know her outside of that forest, and he does not know her outside of her last name. Still, he continues forward as if this is second nature to him.

 _When had she stopped moving forward_?  
 _When had she_ —

He's stopped before her his arms crossed upon his chest, "What's wrong?"

Viridian flutter once more at this male so bold, and so overwhelming. She feels her eyes sting as all of her hatred, and all of her inner turmoil boil to the surface, "Do you hate?"

The words fall so easily, and the world seems to go quiet within her ears. There are lingering gazes among those that pass by but none seem to have caught what she had asked. His bottom lip falls open, and those azure eyes fall from her as they take in what she has asked. There's a shame that comes over her drenching her to the core. It makes her want to take back what she has asked him. It makes her wish she had never given in to that presence he has so naturally—it's so comforting.

Viridian watch as his mouth closes once more with lips pressed tightly together, and then only moments later does he open it again as determination radiates from him as brightly as his warmth.

"I don't know what happened, and I don't know who it is that you hate, but what I do know is that hatred hasn't solved anything." his fingers make their way to his pockets as he continues to look at her earnestly, "Has hatred solved anything for you?"

"No."

"Hatred. The word itself is heavy. It weighs you down and yet, so many people feel that, you know? I fight to give people peace. I fight to bring these warring clans together, and get rid of hatred. If I let myself be weighed down who am I supposed to bring together? You have to _believe_ there is good in people—otherwise, _what am I fighting for_?" his voice raises with each thought and it's with each thought that viridian become wider, "Sakura-chan, what is your role? What do you fight for?"

"I fight to provide what others cannot. I want to heal people. I want to provide them with relief so that they can keep moving while _so many of you take_. I want— _I want so much_. I'm tired of fighting, and I'm tired of hurting. I'm tired—"

" _Everyone's tired_." azure seize her catching her voice within her throat, "How can you heal, and do what _I_ can't if your weighed down? Hatred breeds hatred. You can't provide what you don't give. This person you _hate_ —has hating them made it easier? Has hating them made you better? Has it made you give up on peace? What peace do you fight for?"

The words fall far faster than she expects, and her voice is far stronger than she thought it could be, "I fight for a peace brought about by _love_ , and yet how can I not _hate_ someone who has taken _everything_ from me? How can I not hate someone who has _hurt_ so many."

His mouth is left open, and his azure can only widen at her declaration. The silence that hangs within the air is thick and suffocating and yet, it's as he lets out a huff of air that he cuts through it effortlessly, "It sounds to me like you're just making excuses. Your husband, I'm assuming, fights in the war. He does exactly what you hate this person for to others. You know, it seems to me like your just looking for reasons to make hatred _okay_. I can't stand people who do that. This is war. Don't forget we don't do this because we want to. You may have lost someone—who am I kidding _we've all_ lost someone. Hating them for it isn't going to bring them back. How are you honoring that person by hating them? Would they appreciate you taking your love for them and turning it into hate?"

Fingers twist within her clothing as she looks at him. Wide doe eyes cannot leave his face as she hears him louder, and clearer than she had ever thought possible.

This man.

 _What had he lost in the war_?  
 _Who had he lost in the war_?

How had found this conclusion? Who had shown him the way when he was lost?

Her teeth grit, and it's as she looks down at the ground that the tears dare to fall. Fingers make their way to her hair. There's no soothing rubs like her husband had given as he washed her hair. The scent he has is so distinctly different from that of her husband. It's no less comforting.

He wasn't wrong. Nothing he had said was wrong, and he had made the answer seem so obvious. He had made all of it seem so unnecessary. She had accepted that she had started to shift the blame, and make reasons to hate her husband on behalf of his brother. She had accepted that was wrong. She had accepted it. She had understood it, and now this male so full of sun, and so full of warmth was bringing down the walls she had made deep within the night as she stared at the ceiling.

 _This answer he had given her_.  
 _She needed to accept it_.

She could not let that man take _more_ from her.

He gives way to a whine, and a humor filled comment that has her letting out the smallest of laughs. He throws his hands behind his head with that large grin plastered back in its place she has come to associate as being entirely him. The walk back to her home, and it's with Shisui running to her that she feels her mouth curve into a smile she hasn't worn in days.

There's hesitance across the Uchiha's face, but all it takes is a look at her before those features once longed for fall into a sense of calm. Footsteps lead her forward and it's now and it's here that she feels herself finally looking down the path instead of back. .

The call of her mother comes just as she enters the entry way, and it's as she makes her way to the room her mother stays within that she sees her mother holding up something that makes her heart drop. The pendent is unmistakable. It's floral petals are pale except for one. That one lone petal is of a darker rosier shade. The chain hangs within her mother's fingers, and it's as her mother's viridian look to her own that the widest of smiles breaks out.

There's tears, and there's broken laughter between the two. Her mother's voice is hushed within this moment they share. Never had she mentioned to her in these days that the man who had taken her father was so close. She could not find it in herself to burden her mother so much. Fingers dance across her neck sending the smallest tickles down her.

"I don't expect you to tell me what has you so upset. Just don't forget that I am here, and so is your father. We love you, Sakura. Please don't forget to lean on me, and never think you can't lean on him. He would hate for you to carry everything on your own." Her mother fluffs her hair as she says it all so quietly as if it's a secret meant for them alone.

There's no denying the tears that have fallen from those viridian her mother had been so kind as to share. Her hands are raising and she cannot stop herself from cupping her mother's face a moment longer. She presses her forehead against her mothers and it's as her mother's fingers wrap around her wrists that they both cry whispering comfort to each other.

For every whispered affection another falls into place. For every affection action another follows right behind. Her heart seeks to apologize for being so selfish as to forget she has a parent right here, and another that truly had never left her.

The last whisper her mother gives before wrapping her within a hug is one she's sure she'll never be able to let go off. It brings pride back upon her, and the urgency to make it all true. She could not fail her father, and she could not fail her mother.

— _He's so proud of you, Sakura. He really is. We both are._

* * *

It's as they walk to make their way towards the shinobi with locks with pale lead colored hair meant to assist with her practice that she tells the answer she's found to Shisui, "I wish to speak with him. I wish to speak with my brother-in-law once more."

He stops within his taken step to look at her. The Uchiha cannot stop his hesitation from showing—he's held so much of that recently, "I'll see what I can do, Sakura-san."

"Thank you." the male of pale lead colored locks can only watch them as she stands before him. She turns to look at Shisui once more before she takes her leave, "When I had let hate fill me I told you I had lost _everything_." her lips widen into a smile that she had just the day before relearned, "I was wrong. I have gained far more than I could have ever ask for." the warmth that she was meant to give had found its way back to her face, and within her viridian.

She is beaming with hope, and she is beaming full of love that she wishes to give.

If there was one thing her father had taught her it was not to live in the past. Her father would not find honor in her staining her hands. Her father would not find happiness in her allowing such hate to fuel her. He would not find peace if she did not find prosperity in life.

Her father had been the kindest of people. He had been one of warmth, and sun—it's clear now that is why she finds such comfort in the blonde. He had been the one to wipe her tears from her face, and pat her head when she stumbled. He cared so much for her. He had loved her, and in that love he had been the one to teach her the meaning of giving. He had been the one to teach her to love with no requirements.

Kizashi Haruno was unconditional in all that he did.  
 _He gave unconditionally_.  
 _He loved unconditionally_.

She, too, would love unconditionally.  
 _That is how she would honor him_.

"You look troubled."

She gives a shake of her head, "No. I'm just thankful to have a papa who still continues to love, and teach me even after he has left me." there is a shudder that overcomes her as she speaks between soft smiles, "I will bring the spring for _him_. I will bring the spring to _everyone_ —so they can feel the same love, and warmth I received from him. I will repay all of you for leading me back to him, and leading me back to who I am supposed to be."

Her eyes shift to the male of pale lead hair beside her. They never falter in their walk having left Shisui shortly after her gratitude, "He's proud of you." his fingers fall within her hair affectionately.

* * *

 **Author Note:  
important shit** \- next chapter will be out sometime after Katsucon since I need a breather after the convention to get back into the swing again  
 **(estimated date is 2-27-2018)  
semi important shit - **HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY FELLOW AQUARIUS, AND FEBRUARY BIRTHDAYS MY YOU HAVE THE BOMBEST BIRTHDAY MY DUDES. ALSO THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO TOOK THE TIME TO SEND ME BIRTHDAY WISHES BEFORE, AND DURING MY BIRTHDAY.  
I was sick as hell for my birthday, and every single message seriously made my day guys.

My dudes, so much was added to this chapter. Like normally when I edit my chapters there isn't a whole lot I add to them outside of some fixing here and there, and maybe a line. It's usually very touch up and go. This chapter had massive amounts of revisions, and had massive amounts of content added, which is probably why it is the largest chapter I've posted. Before my Author's Note, and before my chapter title, etc. this chapter hits home at 9,691 words. Most chapters sit anywhere between like 5,000 to 7,000 words. It's not a lot (trust me I know that's not a whole lot since I go based off pages not word count when I divide up chapters), but for me that's massively impressive. That being the said though it definitely was probably one of the most difficult chapters to get out. I was determined due to self induced peer pressure, and IRL stuff going on to get this out and posted tonight. I figure my birthday is as good of an excuse as any to post content to celebrate. I get to be a year older, and ya'll get more ridiculous angst cause I'm an asshole by trade. That being said.

YA'LL WANTED TO KNOW WHAT CHAPTER MADE ME CRY LIKE A LITTLE BITCH HERE IT IS. I SPOKE OF IT, AND IT FINALLY HITS THE NET. I LEGIT DID ABSOLUTELY CRY WHILE WORKING ON THIS AGAIN TODAY. I'MTRASH. ABSOLUTE. WEEB. ASS. TRASH. whyamisopatheticjesuschrist. likeisthisanormalthing? doauthorsactuallycrywhentheywritesomeshit? idoevidently. fightme.

Okay all that is besides the point. I think this chapter for me was definitely the most emotional specifically because it really centers behind two of the parents. By no means are my parents in bad health, etc, but I can honestly say Mama Ombree, and Papa Ombree very much had some part in this. My father and mother have always been very loving parents. They strive to teach me well, and strive to keep me safe. My parents have gone through a lot with me especially (there's four of us total). I can honestly say there is nothing like a parents love. It's not even something I feel like I even was able to write even now. I can definitely tell you though that a lot of my love, and a lot of my heart was definitely about this chapter because of the things we've been through. My dad doesn't understand mental illness but I'll never forget him taking the time my senior year to legitimately send me an inspirational quote each morning during my first class, and give me life advice. My dad seriously was on it every day. 8:30 am sharp. He knew I was having a rough time. He knew I was being bullied, and he knew that even though he didn't understand depression it didn't make it any less real his kid was experiencing it. My dad loved me enough to do his best and to make sure I knew he loved me, and he was there for me. He did his best to do something about even if he just can't grasp actual depression. He was there to make sure to promise me it would get better, and that he was proud of me, and of the person I was becoming. I will never forget that. I can honestly say I've never deleted those texts. I can honestly say that I have one of the best dads out there. He's never stopped supporting me. He continues to be there when I fall, and he continues to tell me when he thinks I need it that he's proud of me.

My mother and me didn't become close until I was 21 years old. Shortly after my 21st birthday I had a really violent thing happen to me. I won't describe or go into major details, but the gist of it is I was brutally assaulted while I was sleeping. I could not do anything. Literally. I was injured to the point my mother had to do everything from bathing me, to feeding me, to brushing my teeth. It was a lot of things, and a difficult time in my life. I had changed a lot when it first happened, and it broke my mother to see me in such a state. My mother cannot stand psychologists (almost funny to a point since that's what I was going to school for once upon a time) but she pushed me forward to do it. She needed me back. She told this psychologist she had to have me back. She could not handle me being docile. She, I kid you the fuck not, told her "My daughter's a bitch. I need you to bring that back." I bonded a lot with my mom during that time period. She cried when I could use my dominate hand again. She made sure to let me know how much it hurt her to see me like that. She sat me down and she made sure to tell me how much it hurt that someone took this child she had made, who was perfect physically and psychology, and dared to scar and try to take me away from her. My mom struggled a lot during that time herself, but she never stopped putting me first. She gave me support, and she helped me with all the legal stuff. We're extremely close because of this. My mom is one hell of a woman guys, and honest to god I hope that even a small part of me is on her level. There is no one stronger in my world than her.

I would do anything for her, or my father. Anything. They have literally shaped me into who I am and taught me so much. I know not everyone has the parents I do. I know bad moms, and dads exist. Not all moms are good moms, and not all dads are good dads. I can't tell you how thankful I am to have them. I can't tell you how literally fortune I was to have these two in my world. I can only hope I can be even just a fraction of what they were to me if I ever have children. Looking back at my childhood I had it ridiculously good regardless of whatever bad came my way. No one will probably love me even close to what these two do. No one will ever protect me in the way that these two have. Regardless I at least have it. Not everyone does, and that will make me always ridiculously grateful. Now we're gonna just push this aside because being sick and crying over the above is just not working in my favor and I feel extremely embarrassed to a point.

thiscryingshitgottaendsomewhere.

ON TO GOOD SHIT LIKE GUEST REVIEWS AND ALL THEM BALLER ASS BIRTHDAY WISHES YOU SENT ME.  
PEW PEW. imsorryimthiswayjesuschrist.

 **Guest, who was bewitched** \- Thank you so much for all the compliments, my dude. I have done a ton of research and even still I don't feel like I've grasped everything completely, but even still I feel like being able to get people curious and look up some of this stuff is absolutely amazing. I feel like I'm doing something good at that point and making both mine and everyone else more knowledgeable. My dude this journey is something I'm so glad we can come together on. I still have yet to find a reason to regret doing this, and it becomes so worth it every time I get reviews like this. Thanks so much for the birthday wishes.  
 **Sanaa** \- Thanks my dude! Glad you're enjoying it.  
 **Navika** \- I actually remember you from your review on my Fresh Toxin collection. I hadn't responded to you yet since I haven't continued that for a hot minute, but just to bring something up that you mentioned on that one. You said you wished we could be friends. We can be friends. This goes for literally everyone. We all can be friends. I'm down with this. I'm down with making new friends. I am in no way better or greater than anyone in the fandom. I know there's a lot of people within the SS community that seem to sit upon pedestals and think they are above others. I am not one of those people. I am not gonna let some popularity on this fic ever change who I am. I know I'm probably intimidating. I've been where you are wishing I could be friends with an author or a fanartist, etc. but the thing is I learned as a grew up that like they're not that fucking special. I'm not fucking special. I am a newly turned 26 year old white girl who lives in a one bedroom apartment. I own a cat, and I like nice short ass walks to my fridge. I binge drink coffee. I fangirl over the dumbest of shit. A lot of these well known people in the SS community tend to come off a bit cold, and intimidating, and a little hard to approach. Sometimes it's on purpose. Other times, and what I hope is most of the time, it's probably super unintentional. Just like with me. I don't want to be intimidating but I'm sure I am regardless. At the end of the day none of them are any different than you or me. I don't care if I have a problem with one of them. If they came to me, and they were upset, and they were needing an ear I would be there to listen, and be there to help. I would try to be what they needed in that moment so they wouldn't be alone. I would absolutely push my differences with that person aside for their mental or physical health. Please be my friend. Let me be there for you. Lets be close, my dude. My door is always open regardless if you wanna fangirl about how swagger Sasuke is/bow chika wow wow Sakura is/how absolutely baller our SasuSaku train is, or if you wanna come to me because something bad is happening in your world. Lets. Be. Friends. As for the rest of your actual review. Dude I love you too. You are seriously awesome, and I'm so happy you take the time to review for me. It's seriously amazing, and I meant what I said above. Lets be friends dude.  
 **777** \- Goddammitwhyousocuteicannotgoooooddamn. I'm so glad you liked my last chapter dude. It's always a treat reading your thoughts.  
 **2lazy2login** \- Ihopethischaptershookyoujustashard. My dude sauce and saku gonna be all kinds of beautiful during the festival. I seriously cannot wait to drop that shit on you guys. Sauce is gonna be so fuckin woke.  
 **Guest, excited about how awesome Sauce was** \- Duuuuuude yes. There was a time, and there was a place, and Sasuke finally jumped on that. I was so glad to hit that point where he could show himself a bit more. We're finally getting to good stuff, and I honestly am so excited to continue progressing their relationship.  
 **Guest, wanting jealous!Sauce** \- I mean. I cannot confirm nor deny my content #sideeyeshiftyshift. . .#eyebrowwiggle  
 **Guest, who was impressed by me not being a petty mcbetty** \- My dude yeah it was a thing. Sometimes it was frustrating, but overall I mean it's good. I've brushed it off, and at the end of the day it was still worth it.  
 **Juicegop** \- Glad you're digging it, my dude.  
 **Lolo** \- I mean. It's rated M #sideeyesthatrating.  
 **Frizz** \- #SNORT DUDE I KNOW RIGHT. The kiss was worth it and I'm so glad I added it.  
 **ASH, homie G, my guester who fly mcfly with a side of thot** \- MY BIIIIIIITCH. Pew pew shots fired. Got that discord guuuuurl? Bree#6367 aaaaadd me. DO IT. DOOOOOOOOOOOOO IT. #SCREECHING I would love to work on something with you. It would be awesome to throw down ideas and get a group project going. Thanks so much for the birthday wishes, my duuuude. I hope your birthday went well and that it was awesome sauce. I actually have a oneshot written for your Birthday but I haven't posted it as I need to go back over it (gotta make dat shit peeeerfect with a side of stellar). I'll be posting it after Katsucon for sure though. Oh shit ya dude na I'll totes hand you my photos when it's done (still finishing up some of it but almost there. Got less than two weeks to go). No lie I feel the same way though. I definitely feel like you on the same level as me and we've legit known each other for literally ages. Some serious childhood friend shit right here.  
 **Guest, who is a fan of my fic** \- That's super baller dude that you feel that way. I'm so glad to hear from fans, and it's amazing that you managed to read it in one sitting cause damn dude this chapter took me all night. Thanks for reading and reviewing!  
 **Drabbleocity** \- DUDE YOU HAVE ME LIKE BLUSHING AND WANTING TO HIDE BEHIND A PILLOW. AJKDJSALKDJSAKLDJSALK AHHHH JESUSTAKETHEWHEEL. I'm so glad I come off as chill and approachable. I just wanna have fun with you guys. I wanna make jokes, and share thoughts. I wanna do all the things and have parties, and just goof around. I can be so extra and just hearing that you dig my personality is a huuuuuuge compliment and seriously something I appreciate. PFFFFT DUDE WON'T LIE BUDDY ALMOST-AAAAALMOST TALKED ME INTO BEING PETTY ENOUGH TO RELEASE A FAKE CHAPTER WHERE HE DID CHEAT #SNICKER I did have them sit across from each other but honestly dude think of it like that. I'm totes okay with you running with this. Fluff it the hell up. Also cuddles can absolutely be done. I think there's actually a bit of fluff in the following chapters. Not so fluffy your on a cloud, or so sugary sweet your teeth will fall out, but it's definitely there. See things like that I can get down with and attempt to dabble with.  
 **Guest, who felt relief** \- I'm so glad you're looking forward it this chapter, my dude. I'm glad I could push myself to get this out today even with me being busy with birthday, and sick stuff. I also appreciate the birthday wishes your an absolute sweetheart.  
 **HailsN** \- Okay, my dude. It takes a lot to offend me. There's gotta be a lot of beat downs before I get to the level of offended but I really am just not okay with you referencing this as battered wife syndrome. It's cool if you weren't down with how it played out, but please don't throw that down. That's actually super inconsiderate towards the seriousness of women who suffer from that. I get it how that played out was not your cup of tea, but you can just as easily explain that without going this route.  
 **Guest, fellow Aquarius** \- I DID NOT KNOW THAT AND HEARING MY BOI IZUNA IS MAKES ME SQUEAL LIKE A DUMBASS. dsajdsadsjadsakdsajdsa I hope your birthday was seriously awesome dude. If it hasn't happened yet I hope it will be awesome.  
 **Guest, born on the first** \- Happy Birthday dude. Get that sweet sweet cake, and ice cream and party it up for both of us. Thank you so much for the birthday wishes.  
 **GuestLuv** \- Slaaaaaaaaaaay my dude. Hooooooooomie she needs to jump on it~ cause if she sexy and she knows she needs to flaunt. It's tuesday night and they on the spot. Don't believe just wait for them chapters #SHOTIMSORRYIMDUMB #THATDUMBASSBRUNOMARSREWRITE #JESUSGODIMSAYINGSORRYFOREVERYTHINGANDITNEEDSTOBEDONE  
 **Guest, who's been a SS shipper for 10 years** \- Gonna start callin Sauce Captian Bed-Your-Fuckin-Goddess-Wife-Already! Haha I loved your review and so glad you're digging the story. Thank you for giving my work a shot and taking the time to review!  
 **Guest, who was all kinds of shaking** \- My dude, I loved your review. The laugh I let out I'm pretty sure was heard by my neighbors below. You're gucci as hell, and adorable to boot. Thank you for reviewing, and all of the compliments.  
 **TheDailyRoutine** \- I do, in fact, watch Korean Dramas. I haven't seen a lot of them, but I have watched a few and always down for recommended series. I will absolutely have to check that out. The inspiration for this one came from a small short 90s? series called Shamanic Princess. It's like 6 episodes long totes recommend it. It's like the OG of Dark Magical Girl series.  
 **CruddleDuds** \- Yessssssssssss dude so down with your review it was legit awesome so seeing your reaction to stuff, and getting a feel for all things you thought. I try to make the end of each chapter end on like a powerful note and so I'm glad I've been hitting that. Dude it's always awesome seeing that I'm not the only one who's like "My petty is on a level of x and for christ sake stop raising it." hahaha I try super hard to make sure I respond to people. Sometimes I know I miss people, but it's generally never on purpose (there has been only one review that I have purposely gone out of my way to ignore, and that's due to a personal conflict with that individual. At 26 I'm just not willing to deal with drama on the webs anymore). The sad thing is like I legit talk like this. It's always nice to break from writer mode, to just ombreeweebtrashshitlord mode haha cause the thing is I can obviously apply myself as show from my actual chapters, but at the same time I don't think I could handle actually talking like that. On Friday it looks like I'll be doing Asuna from Ordinal Scale with the boyfriendo doing Kirito, Saturday is Odin from Final Fantasy (femaled his ass up and based it primarily on the World of Final Fantasy design), and then Saturday evening will be Burlesque Catwoman, which I actually just did for Ohayocon.  
 **Guest, who sent me the birthday wishes** \- Thank you so much, my dude. Definitely helped make my birthday all the more special!

As always thank you to everyone who reviews, and reads. It seriously means a lot even if we disagree. It's always nice seeing your guys reviews and I'm just glad I can make content for fellow fans. It's awesome kinda like bonding with you through reviews, and this story all together. Have an awesome next couple weeks, and I'll see ya'll after Katsucon.


	11. The Pride

x.x.x

 **Chapter 11**  
The Pride

* * *

There are reds, and there are golds.

They're rich in color, vibrant within her eyes, and all the telling signs of the New Years fast approach. These colors are elegant. They represent happiness and they represent freedom from worldly cares.

 _They hold promise and they hold a world he has yet to experience_.

Her husband would be there to watch how they brought in a new year. He would be there to taste their food. He would be there to join in their customs so different from his own. He would be there to watch her welcome the spring, and bring it within their homes.

Her fingers feel the numb the cold provides as she walks beside her guard. He is all the same smiles and earthly qualities she associates him with even after all the trouble she has caused him. His smile stands forever upon his lips. It's not large, and it's not beaming, but it's quaint and it's understanding.

Her brother-in-law has agreed to speak with her. She had requested this, and yet it does nothing to ease her as she makes her way through the village to meet with him. At first she had thought he would refuse to see her. He had only just agreed the night before.

Practiced lines had filled her head throughout the day. It had distracted her within her practice, and here— _now_ —as she is almost upon him she has lost all of it.

The words she had wanted to say, and the feelings she wished to convey were tucked within the fear that swam through her being. Unequal and unfathomable. Tears would get her nowhere. They did not conquer that which would stand before her. Words would pave the path of where she was to go. They could be what sets the pace—the control.

It was as if all of what she had wished to say desired to hide from the man who had stolen her father from the world of the living.

 _Crippled and weak.  
Would she find where they hid in his presence?_

There's no denying the hatred that sits low within her stomach.  
 _She was not here for that_.

She had sought something entirely different. No longer would hatred keep her locked within the past. Her father sought for her to move forward. She would not forgive, and she would not forget. She would, however, reach an understanding with this man.

— _yet, she could not remember what understanding she wished to reach_.

She had finally understood a small portion of her husband's pain, and now she sought to understand this man, who had taken her father, and abandoned her husband.  
Was such a thing _possible_?

She was not a god who held unspeakable forgiveness— _that's right_.  
 _This was never about forgiveness_.

Fingers reach upon her nose as she attempts to breath within them and bring warmth back into the chilled digits. The roads connected and turned, and it's as they make their way to the outskirts of this village that she realizes that this relative brought by marriage has sought a place far from others. There's curiosity behind what she will see when she enters—what kind of home does her brother-in-law resides in? The outside is so very ordinary, and so unlike the home he had left. It holds nothing traditional about its structure.

 _Does it linger with feelings of the home he had once held inside_?

He greets them with silence. Only a look, and a nod come from him as he allows them within his home. The home whispers of barely touched items. Dust lingers as if he has barely inhabited it in all his time within the Senju territory.

The air in this home is stiff as if to make it clear this is not a place considered _home_.

There is such an odd feeling within her stomach at the coldness the home provides. Warmth was always meant to be in the home you lived. Warmth is what beckoned you back. Warmth is what embraced you when you entered. Had this man lost that warmth when he had sided with the Senju?

Rich red and bright white does not cover even a small portion of this home—the fan that symbolizes his family name holds no place upon these walls.  
It's outline is nowhere in sight. It does not exist in this space.

 _Home is where the heart was—perhaps this man held no heart.  
_ She did not come here to feel sorry for his lack of heart _._

 _There was no forgiveness for this man_.  
She did not come here to forgive him for stealing her father from her with such little care.

 _There was desire to reach an understanding_.  
She had come here to reach an understanding with this man who was tied to her through her husband.

This home so unfeeling does nothing to ease her fears. It does nothing to help her find the practiced lines she had recited within her head. It did not help her in finding strength against the hatred lingering deep within her. It does nothing for her as they come within his living space. The traditional style custom to the Uchiha is present even as the outside looks so ordinary. The chabudai is the lone piece that sets to provide her any form of comfort. It's just as the one within her home.

The comfort provided is small and fleeting.  
 _Did this man long for home_?

The chabudai is where her husband had teased her. The chabudai is where her husband had agreed for her to practice her traditions.

"What did you wish to speak about?" his voice is deep, and eerily soothing—just a bit deeper in tone than that of her husband's.

Viridian cannot help but compare these siblings. The deep exhaustion that hang under his eyes have not found their way to her husband. Did the terrors he cause bring sleepless nights? Would her husband acquire them as he continued down this road as a war god?

The long locks of hair he kept tamed within a low hanging ponytail only seeks to further remind her of her husband. If she had not cut Sasuke's hair would he look just as this man before her does? There is no doubt they had come from the same family. Their features while so different were undeniably from the same family.

The silence in the air is tight around them. She sits here now wishing more than ever that the words she had found within the day would come back to her. Every moment she stands before him seeks to flush her skin warm with hissing hatred. The scolding within her head comes reminding her that she would not stay stuck in the past. She would not let this man control her further. She would not let him stop her from moving forward.

The lackadaisical attempt decorating his face never wavers even as they stand within the deafening silence. He's waiting for her to find her voice, and that look upon his face has words spilling from her lips, "I am your brother's wife."

Her voice had been far softer than she would have ever intended before this man.

There is no point behind these words— _he had known this already_.

Viridian cannot hold his gaze as it bores upon her being. There's a pain in this look of his. It holds the same scrutiny it did before. She had meant to find an understanding between them, and it only continues to be out of reach in the thick silence that's come over them once again.

The seconds feel longer than they should, and then his words follow, "Ah, and does he love you?" his words are not cold, nor are they mocking her. There is a hint of knowing behind them. It's subtle and small. Yet, that does not lessen the reality of its presence.

That hint of knowing does nothing but heighten the loathing deep within her—it does nothing more than twist the metaphorical blade deeper. This man knows that she has already lost the flow of this conversation. This man knows that he holds the control.

 _Hatred_.

She had thought many things going into this. She had thought of the possibilities that would be within this moment of time between them. There had been the contemplation on if she could truly handle the sight of him. There had been the consideration on if she could maintain herself before him. There had been the determination that she would not let this man swallow her whole once more.

— _The word itself is heavy_.

She had thought of all the things he could possibly say and yet none of them had ever thought he would question his brother's love. Never had she considered he would question her marriage. It does not lessen the blow she feels to her heart. It's steady within its rhythm, but the uncertainty, just like that hint of knowing within his words, is subtle but there. That uncertainty can grow. That knowing of his has already started to grow.

 _It weighs you down and yet, so many people feel that, you know?_

Her tongue presses within the roof of her mouth. He pushed her off the cliff into the sea of uncertainty without remorse. She has plunged further into loss at how to respond. This single question has brought her own insecurities into the air. It has given them a physical being before her eyes. It begs to question if he can see them just as she can.

Did her husband love her?  
 _She had asked for his love._

Did her husband want to love her?  
 _She had asked him such._

There had been no answer. There had been no response from her husband's side. He had kept her within the world of questions. He still, deep within their union, had never seemed to answer a single question she had ever held. It's within this moment she feels as though she is _alone_.

Alone with nowhere to go. Alone without a hand to reach for in this union she was bound to in front of her gods. Alone like she had been when she had first arrived within the home this man once called _home_.

She does not feel her brother-in-law standing before her, and she does not feel the shinobi meant to protect her. She feels only those feelings of uncertainty that this man before her has given life to. The feelings she had come within are solely her own. They are not her husband's doubts, and the ache that comes from these feelings—entirely her own—forces her firm pressed lips to soften. Disbelief decorates her as she continues to fall deeper among uncertainty.

All this uncertainty—was this what had made her wish to push her hatred upon her husband? Is this what had made it so easy to find excuses?

 _Her life had dabbled in uncertainty for almost two years_.  
In two years she still had so many _insecurities_.

 _What if her husband was incapable of such things_?  
Had she ever _considered_ such a thought?

Fingers close upon her mouth as the realization overtakes her senses. This was something she had neglected in her attempts to bring him peace. He had continued to go into battle without an anchor, and she had selfishly hoped that he would not leave her side. He had shown her kindness, and she had allowed herself to romanticize that kindness. He had felt a pain she had finally tasted. She had allowed that cup of poison to slide down her throat and it had held a portion of her heart every since—it was addictive.

He had lost so much within the war— _everyone had lost so much within the war_.

The slow descent of her fingers leaves but a ghostly touch upon her skin as she takes it all in once more. Her fingers slide upon her throat and catch hold of the necklace that had once adorned her father— _it's cold as if it has lost her father's warmth_.

 _Your husband, I'm assuming, fights in the war.  
_ — _He does exactly what you hate this person for to others._

"I'm guessing he does not."

Her father had been the kindest of people. He had been one of warmth, and sun. He had been one of hope, and he had been one of overwhelming protection. That in which he wore now sat upon her neck—it's as if his warmth and his love could not reach her in this _home_.

 _Just don't forget that I am here  
_ — _and so is your father._

Those words bring her from herself. They are a reminder that she is not alone, and that she had allowed this man to swallow her once more. She had allowed herself to give this man control. He and the one meant to protect her in her husband's place had been able to see her insecurities, her uncertainties, and her doubts as they teased and pulled her back into hatred.

 _We love you, Sakura—  
Please don't forget to lean on me, and never think you can't lean on him_.

She has allowed the shaky foundation that is her union— _her marriage_ —to be on display before them both.  
She had given them both the chance to see how easily this man could swallow her completely.

Not again— _never again_ —would she give him such _pleasure_.

Wide doe-eyes blossom as they find the ebony that continue to read her every thought. His words haunt the air caressing her skin. There is the urge to defend her marriage. She longs to make it clear there is no weakness within their walls. To do so would be to deceive this man before her. Viridian fill with fear at what her face shows. She cannot allow him to know more than she has let out for all in this room to see. Those endless ebony of his could not be deceived so halfheartedly. She needed to stand firm within her heart before this man. She was not alone. Her father would be there to protect her. Her mother would be there to allow her to lean upon her when she could not find the answers. Her husband—

 _Her husband did all he could to keep what was left of his world protected and within his hands_.  
Had she become a member of the collective things that he sought to keep within his fingers?  
 _Was she a part of that world_?

Would her husband be distraught if she was not there within his life?  
 _Did her husband love her deeply_?  
No.

Her viridian widen more if even possible. Her fingers tighten upon the floral pendant seeking to stop the pounding of her heart. Sasuke was kind, but kindness was not love. It was not deep. It was not proof of his feelings. Thought after thought continues to crush her—her feelings hang by a thread at the end of a dream.

"He has and would punish any who upset her."

Her head aches with the speed in which she has whipped it to gaze upon Shisui who dares to intervene.

 _Because, Sasuke Uchiha, would no doubt protect her._

The assault that comes with that thought is harsh and fast. Her husband did not love her deeply, but he _cared_. He _cared_ in the smallest of ways. He was trying to _care_. He was doing all the he knew to show her in that way that was so _painstakingly him_ — _that he had begun to care_. He had begun to feel anchored to this world.

He had shown it with each utterance of the word annoying carrying an almost teasing nature. He had shown it when he told her to call him by his name. He had shown it when he had allowed her to cut his ebony strands to remove the familiarity of this sibling before her. He had shown it when he had reached out to her asking her to go to him. He had shown it when he had held her as she let her tears fall over Hikaku's death. He had shown it when he had thanked her in the previous year as she hung the intricate red knot upon the tree he had sought refuge in off the battlefield. He had shown it when he had sent her word of victory taking her offered hand with a smirk. He had shown it when he stood beside her as she drowned within her anguish at losing her father.

Her brows pinch together as her viridian steel with resolve. Shisui had managed to prove her wrong all over again. He had managed to remind her of all the little things that Sasuke Uchiha showed. The thoughts that shake within her heart are loud within her head. They are screaming, and they will not be ignored.

 _Would they appreciate you taking your love for them and turning it into hate?  
Would her husband appreciate her taking his care for her and turning it into hate_?

He had shown it when she had come home to find his fingers wrapped around the male who had dared to tell her of her husband's possible infidelity—he was angered that she would be hurt by such things. He had shown it when he had sought her to help him sleep—he had pulled her to him. He had shown it when he asked of Magu, and Chang'e allowing his curiosity to be seen with her viridian—he had asked so innocently within his newly formed interest. He had shown it when he pressed his fingers upon the child's back she carried welcoming her home—his tone had been warm and inviting.

 _Over_ and _over_ again.  
 _As if she were on repeat_.

She continued to tell all that would hear that he was kind.  
 _He had always been so kind_.

He had shown it when he had grasped her rose-colored strands within his fingers—he had allowed her to provide him with comfort after they had fought. He had shown it when he had pleaded for her to look upon him before pressing his lips to her own—he had taken her within his warmth as if to take away her insecurities. He had shown it when he had taken so much care in her the following day—he had given way to an apology she had never seen coming. He had shown it when he had forced the woman who had hurled the racial slur at her to apologize—he had been ruthless in gaining it to make her happy. He had shown it when he had told her he wished to see her perform the dance—he wanted her to welcome the spring.

Had she become a member of the collective things that he sought to keep within his fingers?  
 _Was she a part of that world_?  
Yes.

"You asked me if my husband loves me—I cannot answer that. I do not know what it is my husband feels towards me. He _cares_ for me though. They are small things. They are the smallest of attempts, but he's _trying_." there is pride within her title as wife as she finds her foundation stronger than it had been before she had walked within this home so detached of warmth.

The things her husband gave were for her, and her alone. He had made no promises, he had given her no expectations, and yet when he had been given the opportunity to bed another he had instead waited for her. He demanded that woman leave from their home. He did not want her hurt. He did not want her swallowed by unspeakable sadness.

He did not want his _care_ to turn into _hate_.  
—Just as her father, and mother did not want their _love_ turned into _hate_.

 _Has Sasuke-san, truly been cruel to you?_

"Sasuke-kun is learning to love. He is learning to take back what _you_ had taken when you left his side to fight against him." she has taken a step forward—it echos in accusation, " _I am taking back what you sought to take when you killed my father_."

The male of ebony who had dared to question their marriage—dared to question her—allows his lids to dip shut. There is a hum to his words, and his features give nothing away at her words, "You say that he cares for you. You say that he is learning to love, but can he love _you_? You say you are taking back what I have taken from you, _but can you_?"

There is no hesitation—no moment of time even as small as a millisecond—before she answers his challenge, " _We can_."

The smirk that shapes its way within the corners of his mouth make her question what she has agreed to. The male's arms have come to cross over his chest as he takes in a notable inhale deep within, "We will see then. I look forward to seeing his love for you, _imouto_. I also look forward to seeing you welcome the spring. It always was my favorite part in the New Year celebrations."

There is a teasing tone to his voice and it only furthers to make her own lips decorate within a scowl at such behaviors. They had reached some form of understanding though, and that is all she had sought from this. She dips her head forward, "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me." there is no desire to hear more from this man, yet as his feet carry him toward her she does not move.

"I would not recommend telling telling him we spoke. It'll only anger him." his fingers raise and there is the sudden surge of fear that flickers within her mind— _she needed to defend herself_.

"Itachi-san."

Viridian close at Shisui's warning tone. The flinch is involuntary, and with it comes hesitation. At first there is nothing. Seconds span and with it her lids begin their slow raise to allow her viridian to see if Shisui has stopped him from what she assumes to be an act of harm.

The look upon his face is not condescending. It does not hold the desire to harm. It does not hold the desire to cause her pain—it's _tender_. It has lowered her desire to step away from him as two of his fingers make their way to her. The tap upon her seal is gentle, "Till next time."

The warmth within this moment is one she does not understand. It is unearthly in its affection, and viridian can only widen. She had come to this home. This home had held no heart. This home had lost all attempts at warmth. It did not show his family. It did not show what was tucked so deep within him.

 _Home is where the heart was—perhaps this man had locked away his heart.  
_ Perhaps he had locked away his home _.  
_ Perhaps he longed for home.

Someone so warm in this moment could not possible be without a heart.

Was this man looking upon her with such a tender expression the same individual that had held no care as he had dropped her father's body upon the ground? Was this a glimpse of the sibling that her husband had adored within his childhood?

 _Her husband had loved him deeply._

The cold chill that hits her face is not felt as they leave. There are no words between her and her guard. This comrade of hers held only the usual soft smile that he carried with him naturally. Her feet stop within the road at the lingering feel of the traitorous fingers still ghosting upon her seal. The raise of her own fingers go to it with the gentlest of touches as if she would frighten the feeling away. Her heart is slow within its beat, and then there is an almost pained smile that decorates the spring wife's features.

 _Yes, this was definitely the man her husband had loved deeply_.  
 _This man was entrusting her husband's love to her now_.

She had gone to him in search of an understanding. She had left with so much more than just an understanding. He had asked her to not utter of this meeting to her husband—it sat ill within her but she would honor his request. He had been affectionate, and he had held the smallest hint of other intentions with his actions—what those intentions were she did not truly know. There was warmth behind them though. Even across the battlefield there was obvious love within him towards her husband—towards his brother.

Had this man lost that warmth when he had sided with the Senju?  
 _No—he still held it for the sibling he left behind_.

Had this man lost his longing for home when he had sided with the Senju?  
 _No—he still longed for it deep behind the walls he had built around his heart_.

That realization had come with just the touch of his fingers gracing her pale purple seal.

* * *

Snow blanketed the trees, and the ground in which he walked. His comrade walks beside him as they headed for the gates in view only speaking lowly with the smallest of conversations to ease the journey. Items of deep rich reds, and bright golds—the symbols in which her traditions held closes—hung from trees long since dormant with the chill of the season. There is a longing as they come closer, and there is hope she will be at these gates to welcome him within this world of hers that he knew very little of.

As they step through he does not catch the sight of pale rose-colored strands, and instead more deep rich reds and bright golds cover all they can. There is a call for his attention and it brings his eyes to search out his mother-in-law. Very few note him, and there eyes linger upon his person. Inhaling the chilled air deeply he pays no mind. Reputation proceeds him, and such things are to be expected within territories outside of his own. The call of his name finally grasps his attention though, and it's with ease he spots his mother-in-law. There is a calmness to her—their understanding still grounded, and maybe even a hint more after giving her daughter back for this short amount of time.

He gives a nod coming to her side. The male that joins her is silent. There's no missing his obsidian hair, and thick eyebrows. Disdain is what he finds within the obsidian that look to him with greetings between him, and his mother-in-law. Disdain was normal, and disdain was fine. Who was he to care of the feelings of someone upon the opposing side?

His mother-in-law ushers him forward to walk through the overwhelmingly large village pointing out things he held no use for. Thick and large tree branches are throughout the village twisting among the homes of those who reside. She had said so long ago that the red, and gold covered all that the eye could see, yet seeing it and hearing it were two different things. It's overwhelming to a point, and more than he could have ever pictured it. Lanterns hang with succession down pathways all around, door couplets with black ink in characters he does not understand line the doors in pride, intricate and exotic red patterns sit upon the windows his ebony gaze into, red diamonds with more of the same black ink are within every place he looks, and lines of gold have weaved themselves around all they can. All who have come, and live within this world dare not to walk within the middle of the path of what he can only assume is the main stretch. They line the way with excitement radiating their being unphased by the snow and winter air.

Deep within his mother-in-law's lead she stops with hesitance before turning to him. The smile that decorates her mouth and leads to the glowing viridian she has blessed her daughter with is one he knows far to well. It's the smile that the ethereal being that is his wife had given to him countless times. He realizes the mother of his wife has given far more than just her glowing viridian to the spring nymph.

The joy that fills her as she swells with pride is overflowing as she speaks, "Please look upon her with the same pride they do— _that I do_."

He does not know how to answer her, and can only widen his ebony at her request before the sounds of drums, tambourines, and flutes fill the air drawing his attention down that which he had come. Women dressed with foreign gowns of gold, and faces covered by deep rich red veils dance down the line of people with fabric of vibrant red clutched within their fingers joining them. Their feet stomp upon the snow covered ground with each hit of the drums as if they do not notice the white fluff covering their toes. Bells that hang from their ankles and wrists ring out with every little movement they provide their audience. Ebony dare not remove his gaze as he watches all that comes before him as the people give way to cheers. A lone woman within the center captures his ebony seemingly unable to remove themselves from her. He finds himself entrance as his eyes follow the almost liquid movement of the azure blue gown lined in gold that slides up the legs of the woman as she moves within the beat of the drum. Delicate pale green sleeves float within the air giving no exposure to the hands within them. The veil of black gives nothing away, and he is desperate to believe that this is his wife before him.

The muffled cry that breaks him free of the dancer falls from his mother-in-law drawing his ebony. Any question of who dances within the middle is thrown away instantly in seeing the beaming smile, and tears that fall from the spring wife's mother. His mouth begins to part as he slides his eyes from the woman to his otherworldly wife. The vibrant red tied above her chest spins effortlessly with her as she gives forth a twirl upon a set of her exposed toes bringing the pale green above her. He is completely drawn in by her, and completely rendered defenseless. She has brought him into a world that only she resides in just as she had more times than he could possibly remember. His heart pounds against his chest as she moves down directly within his gaze with a jump that shakes the ground before them making the crowd cry out louder than before. He does not take in those adorned in more gold and red with large faces of lions within the forefront, nor those who slither through with the head of a dragon, and body so impossibly long. Time has completely halted around him as she disappears down the road within the parade with the fictional beasts in tow, and band close behind. The sounds of the instruments do not find his ears. The voices of cheer among him fall upon deaf ears.

This loss of reality served to only provide a swelling of pride heavy upon his lungs. He does not understand that in which he has watched, yet the words the blonde had said fill his being.

 _Please look upon her with the same pride they do—that I do._

The wild beat of his heart makes his eyes fall with wonder upon his roughened fingers before they curl inward. This woman in all of her spring, and all of her unearthly being he has decided will be what drowns him. There is a longing to be completely submerged within her floral scent, and glowing viridian. This is the woman they had plucked from a village so unknown to him before. This woman was far more than any of them could have ever imagined, and she would forever be more than he could ever realize even in moments such as this.

It's the pull of his arm by the spring nymph's mother that drags him back down to the snowy earth. His obsidian are wild in startle and yet he does not stop her as she pulls him with shuddered breaths. The tears this woman had poured out upon seeing her daughter still cling to her face. There is love, and adoration _—_ and if possible a rich rawness that holds no name.

 _Is this how his mother had gazed upon him when she walked among them_?  
 _Is this how his mother had felt when he had learned their coming of age jutsu_?

Longing has settled deep within his heart as he focuses upon the mother before him. He has no care for where she drags him too. There is now even more understanding, and resolution to this woman he had held no care for not to long ago. Acceptance for their differing ideals comes with this, and the desire to treat her with more care follows. This woman has given everything she can with the loss of her daughter, and loss of her husband. This war, and his family has taken all that they can from her and yet, she, just as she has taught her daughter, still reaches forward towards the future. He cannot keep them apart like this. He needs her to be a part of their world so she does not lose her way as he has. He needs her to continue looking upon her daughter with that same pride she gazes upon her with today.

He holds his ground stopping her pull to give way to a loosened grip upon his arm. She turns to look upon him with the male that had followed in silence steadying her. The glowing viridian she had blessed her child with are decorated in confusion at his abrupt halt in being dragged along. Her fingers begin to pull away from his arm, and it's with that his free hand stops them from leaving his person. He gives a notable deep breath as all those with them await what he is to do next.

Ebony flicker from her gaze as if pained only to come back. His throat tightens as he swallows before his mouth forms what he knows needs to be said, "Thank you. . .Mebuki."

Her glowing viridian hold the wide doe-eyed look her daughter gives so easily, and a tear falls from her as she gives a tight squeeze upon the hand that has captured hers—she is beaming at him.

This is how this woman had produced a child of spring. This is how she had produced the ethereal, otherworldly, and absolutely unearthly woman who wore his clan's symbol upon her back. This is how she had create the spring nymph who encased him within a world so entirely hers, and this is how she had raised a daughter to become the woman who healed, mended, and gave in every way she could.

Time passes with no stop in sight as the busy household that Mebuki has brought him to prepares food for what he has heard them call a reunion dinner. He had not realized his wife held so many relatives, and that he had gain so many within his union. They have taken his cloak, and sat him along with his comrade within one of the many rooms within the house. The food they prepare is thick within the air as children surround him in curiosity.

Paintings, and all that adorn this home carries a foreign air around him as he sits within it. The unease it causes radiates within him, and his comrade as they look upon each other fleetingly trying to take it all in. Footsteps make their way to them and it's hard to look as though they have found comfort within this home.

"She's coming! She's coming!" a woman of chocolate brunette locks pinned into buns calls to him, and he cannot stop himself from raising from his seat in haste to follow after her abandoning the fellow Uchiha.

It's in the entry way that he takes a spot next to his mother-in-law. She comes through the door in yet another painstakingly foreign attire of pale rose, baby blues, and muted reds. The veil of black has yet to leave her, and it's as she turns with a fist pressed to her palm and bows that she dismisses a male of pale lead colored hair that brings her attention back to him. He has barely noticed Shisui behind her—guarding her as he has been tasked too. The transparent nightingale sash with floral gold pattern that wraps around her arms does not prohibit her movement to bring those delicate fingers up to raise the veil.

The warmth and tenderness that greets him stops the air within his throat. That milky unblemished complexion of hers is decorated with vibrant red upon her lids flowing out to her ears, gold lines the bottom of those glowing viridian only overlooked by thickened black lashes, and the vibrant red that touches just the bow of her upper lip, and a line down the center of her bottom—it only seeks to separate her from all within the room. Those forever long rose-colored strands he had longed for are pulled from her face. Only two of the smallest strands fram her cheeks. The rest is sheltered by the veil she has pulled up.

The praise, and cheer that overcomes them all fills the air, and yet he only seeks to hear the voice of his spring nymph wife who has yet to speak. They shower her with affectionate, and adoring hugs— _with restraint to not ruin the image that she is in this moment_.

Ebony look for this woman to seize him within her gaze, and as if it could not come quick enough it comes all at once. He watches as the corners of her mouth hidden by makeup widen as she moves toward him creating that closeness that she does with no effort, "Welcome home, Sasuke-kun."

These words are all too familiar, and even though their roles reversed he feels as if he has returned to a place he knows all to well. The weeks in which she had been gone from his side seemingly gone, and nonexistent at her call to him.

His feet carry him forward moving passed the overfilled hall to stand before her. There is no public affection to show between them. There is no hand reaching to take her own petite ones within his. There is no forehead presses, nor is there him enveloping her within his protection. He gives a calmed nod to her in response and that by itself is enough to make her beam at him with teeth coming into view and soft laughs escaping her mouth.

Her mother has dragged her from him soon after to release her hair, and face from her role, and it's as they sit at the table adorned with fish, radish filled dumplings, spring rolls, sweet rice balls, fruit, and noodles that she is by his side once more. The chatter that falls from the mouths of her relatives creates a dining experience he is not accustomed too. She's whispering within his ear the meaning behind that which is on the table—catfish brings with it an increase in prosperity, radish filled dumplings hold desire of good wealth, spring rolls only seek to further the desire for good wealth within the coming year, sweet rice balls ask for family togetherness, fruit wish upon fullness, and noodles the luck of happiness and longevity. She is there to guide him in understanding their traditions.

She responds within the circle of conversation, that he feels as though he cannot join, occasionally continuing to whisper explanations to him and keep him from being completely foreign among their customs.

The woman who had called at her return—Tenten, he has learned is her name—speaks of her travels, and missions upon the battlefield. She is one he is fighting against. She is a Senju believer, and he dares not speak of his own conquests in front of her. He will not do anything to ruin this moment his wife deserves. He will not take what she is meant to have in this moment.

Sasuke finally allows his bones to feel the exhaustion that he had ignored, and it's as they lay within one of the many rooms her cousin, Tenten, has provided for their stay that he finally feels as though he has taken her all for himself. He is a selfish man, and even in his attempts to refrain from such selfish things he cannot help but relish in it in this moment.

Those fingers of hers have long since made their way to his hair rubbing those soothing circles he finds peace within. Soft whispers fill the small distance between them continuing her teachings. The foreign clothing she has worn are called hanfu, lanterns ward off bad luck, many of the door couplets are poems of spring but vary, the diamond shaped red items pour luck from them, and she continues to explain so much more. Overwhelmed does not begin to explain all that he feels with her teachings. He wonders if this is how she too felt when entering his home.

 _Had she felt foreign within their home?_

As if she has heard his unspoken question she drags her fingers from his head to rest upon his cheek only lingering for seconds before curling to her chest.

She had thought his eyes upon her were that of distaste for her ethnicity—he hopes she had caught his gaze as he watched her within the parade completely wrapped within her. She had needed to remove the disdain she held against herself and he hopes with the pride all who gaze upon her right now has removed even just a tiny portion of it. She had needed to wash the disgust she felt for being different off, and he hopes that she has managed to scrub some of it from her with these small steps at accepting all of her he works to give. There is so much more before him, and all of these reasons are why regardless of how overwhelming her traditions and culture may be he will continue forward.

 _Because she deserved it_.

Finally he gives way to hold her hand within his—this is just another small step—as his lids begin to fall, and blur her from his sight. Even here, and even now he will protect her. Silently. Surely. He will protect her until she can stand tall once more.

* * *

The first day of their New Year is spent within her cousin's home. She has brought him books to gaze over as their family embraces their time together. Friends of hers have come from their own homes, and travel to see her. He takes only subtle interest in those visiting visit. The blonde woman is loud and only holds looks of disdain upon him. The male that had accompanied her mother shows obvious interest in her—it makes his eyes flicker from the page he's reading to study him before turning back to the paragraph they had left fleetingly. Interest in his wife would prove fruitless thanks to their union. He sees no reason to even humor it.

It's midday that the male who had brought her home with pale lead colored hair arrives to retrieve her. There is the wonder of where he has spotted this man before as his ebony stare back within the males relaxed gaze.

"Kakashi-san, this is Sasuke-kun." he can feel his wife's smile within her words

"Ah, so _you're_ the famed husband." there is humor within this man's voice as he crosses his arms.

"Hn." he now knows where he has seen the man before—the battlefield. This man adores his wife. It's obvious in the way in which he speaks with her, and that makes him relax. This man would not hurt her to get back at him for whatever possible misfortune he may have caused him. Shisui has come to her side to follow after them in his task of guarding her, "She will be fine."

There's hesitation within the other Uchiha at his words, "Sasuke-san, are you sure?"

Sasuke can only nod before resuming his reading. Fingers come within his hair and that makes his eyes slowly raise knowing the ever familiar feeling of the spring nymph's touch. There is a pleased look decorating her face. It's a silent thank you for his trust within someone that she appears to adore as well.

He was at war with those who were close to her before she had been plucked to marry him for political gain. The reason behind her disdain the first time his ebony had taken her in is all the more clear. This was more than a difference in ideals. This had been because those she now called family had most-likely taken one who adored her away. Never, though, had she outright said a word. Never, though, had she ever accused. He wonders if the pain of losing one, or more of her friends had broken her like her father's passing.

She had experienced loss far more than he had realized. Yet, in these moments, and throughout their union she had removed her disdain for him. She sought love from him now.

The man has taken her from him once more to practice before the fifteenth day in which she will perform her coming of spring dance. The hours she is gone leave him restless within the home of her cousin. The members attempt to include him, but quickly find he has little to offer in the way of company. They learned quickly he was a man of few words.

The second day they give way to religious ceremony to honor their gods. The gods in which they give honor to are vast, and some mirroring his own. She speaks within whispers to give explanation as it unfolds before him. Tiānshén—the god of heaven who gives birth to all things, Nu Wa—the goddess who had mended the earth when it had been broken, Xiwangmu _—_ the goddess of pure yin _,_ Dongwanggong—the god of pure yang, Yánwáng—the god of death who passes judgment upon the dead. There are many and it's hard to keep up with her explanations. He questions how she could possibly remember them all—Huǒshén the god fire _,_ Leishen the god of thunder, Chūnshén the spring god, Xīhé the great sun goddess, and Chang'e the goddess of the moon.

That last one is one he thinks he could never forget, and just as before, again, she leaves his side shortly after honoring her gods.

He hears the whispers among his wife's uncles of her breaking their traditions in the following year by not leaving his side to come to them. There is guilt in keeping her inside his home, and by his side. The guilt is just a touch, and just a hint, but it's still there. Mere seconds after their whispers fill the air do their eyes shift fleetingly to him that he feels as though his hand is held. Even here his mother has traveled to protect him, and give him strength. Warmth is within his palm even without her physical presence and he again gives silent gratitude.

Cloak of deep rich obsidian covers his shoulders as his mother-in-law takes him with her among the crowd of people who seek to receive blessing. The looks he gets are ignored the same as they had been within the eve of the New Year so unfamiliar to him. This mother-in-law does not hesitate with him, and it's in handing him a treat that she whispers for him to give it to a neighbor's dog. He does not understand the meaning behind this, but he does so without question earning him warm smiles from the spring nymph's mother.

His wife's return that night shows exhaustion upon her face.

It's on the third day that she has explains is one to give honor to ones ancestors. The women of the household have risen well before they, the men, do. He takes this time to take in the company of Shisui, and the one lone comrade who continues to participate within his wife's customs. He cannot help but be thankful that he is not alone in the new things that continue to come before him.

He watches as his wife takes the lead in these moments. He wonders how much pride he can truly feel with it thick upon his chest within the side role he claims in every thing that they do. There are no visitors within this day except for the pale lead haired male that continues to come for her. He knows that this will continue within the days before him, and he accepts it. He accepts the veil that hides her face when she parts from him, and he accepts the importance his wife holds within that fifteenth day.

The days are long and each hold their own meaning. There is hope that with the fifteenth day he will no longer have to watch her back as she leaves through the entry way. He holds no interest in the town outside these walls. Interest could prohibit him down the line. Interest could halt, and hesitate his push in the war, and he holds no desire to give way to such things when all eyes looked to him for victory. He was a man who was cruel, and it is only the relative of chocolate brunette hair that he has acquired through his marriage that he would show such hesitation. Crueler men have done far worse, and he hopes that his silent pledge to never go against this new member of his family will be enough to warm his wife's heart as he possibly cuts down others who adore her.

It's on that fifteenth day that he awakens and she is not there beside him as his lids flutter open. Her side has gone cold and yet it does not stop his fingers from reaching within the place she had resided. Sluggish and worn from the events he finds his way into new clothes, and awaits his mother-in-law to lead him. She wears what he can only assume is a hanfu of muted red and white. Those who have found their way from their rooms are prepared and ready to leave—they do not hide their smiles, or joy.

Time lingers as if a second is a minute, and an hour is truly two. The fear that creeps upon him settles within him. His lackadaisical attempt still decorates his face, and yet he knows that it only hides the discomfort he feels. There is no explanation for this fear he did not know could come, but the vexation it brings lingers within the curling of his fingers that do so as if to calm him.

It's deep within the city that he follows his mother-in-law in silence. The blonde, and the obsidian haired male have come in tow with the many relatives, and even they do not speak within these moments. The odd quiet of all who surround him holds an overwhelming thick air as if everything rides upon the thin shoulders of his wife. It's impossible to miss his leader as they come upon him out and away from the gates. He notes the Hyuuga leader beside him with his eldest daughter, long since hidden from the public eye, among them. The Senju leader's eyes fall upon him fleetingly motioning his own leader to look to him. The bright blonde hair of the one who stands beside him is all the same grins he knew from their battles. This is where the man had been. He had been here deep within this village instead of the frontline. He cannot stop the tightening of his jaw as he leaves his mother-in-law's side.

The protection of his mother is what guides him forward with no hesitation among those that gaze to him. Madara holds humor within his voice, "Have you enjoyed yourself?" he can only give but a silent nod in reply, "I look forward to seeing your wife's performance."

Fingers twitch in attempt to quell the whisper of danger among the Senju's second in command's gaze, but it is the blonde who speaks, "Wait, _you're_ Sakura-chan's husband?"

His ebony flash at the affectionate name his enemy has given his wife. He does not understand when or how they have come to know each other, and how they had come to such affectionate terms, "Ah, so you know of her Uzumaki-san?"

The curiosity within his leaders words carry his own as he keeps his gaze upon the azure, "It's hard not to know Sakura-chan when Kakashi-sensei is the one overseeing everything—There was that time in the woods too." the blonde is warm smiles, and radiating in tenderness as he places his hands behind his head.

Lips part at the words and he feels vexation swell within him as if to grab the blonde by his throat for having been anywhere near his wife. There is frustration at who had allowed his wife without protection, and there is lividity in her never speaking of such meetings. What else had this nymph of spring kept from him?

His leader lets out a hum, and it's here that Sasuke knows his leader sees he has no clue of their meeting. As if to silence any thought further the sound of drums brings their eyes to the growing circle of people who open for the gates down the way. Following his leader is second nature as they come to stand within the front of the crowd. Ebony fall upon his mother-in-law across the way fleetingly before setting their gaze towards the gates.

The women of gold with red veils dance down from the gates towards the circle. The vibrant red fabric still connecting them as it had the first time he had witnessed them. It is even now that the snow beneath their feet hold is unnoticed within their bare toes. They come within the circle to the beat of the drum until all who perform are collected, and kneel as if the drum did not produce their movements. Silence is thick among all who have come as he drags his ebony from them and back to the gates that are down so much further than he remembered.

The figure that walks unbound to the beats of the drum comes closer and with her closeness the instruments silence themselves. There would be no missing the otherworldly creature that was his wife as she came forward still. The black veil no longer hides her face, and in its place the skull of a deer sits perched upon her head hiding the glow of the viridian that he knows hides within the shadow it creates. His breath is caught deep at the base of his throat at the exotic being that is this creature of absolute spring. The pearls that trail within the horns trail within her hair blooming to green vines, and lavender colored floral arrangements he could not name. The top that adorns her is much like the cheongsam he had grown accustomed to. It's of the palest of peaches stopping just above her waist. Mesh of the same hue as her milky complexion bleeds to gold upon her stomach. Pearls and golden swirls decorate the transparent fabric leading down to more fabric of pale rose upon her hips. The color of this skirt is only out done by the pale rose-colored curls that wrap themselves behind her. The slits within it give way to legs clad in lavender that halt their coverage at her ankles adorned by the very same bells that hang upon her wrists. Wind flows through and sending the floor reaching golden pellucid cloth that hangs from her shoulders to glide behind her. The sword wrapped loosely upon her hip finally makes itself known with such assistance.

She is unphased and it does not stop her slow stride to the middle of this circle they have created for her.

It's a stage.  
 _It's her stage_.

She is kneeling with her fingers sprawled upon the snow, and he can only gaze with lips parted in thought that she is truly is just as unearthly as he has always thought she was in these last two years. She jumps in sudden movement. Those fingers slim and slender come together sending a gust of air forth, and in return send his heart wild. Her feet collide with the ground releasing tremors from where she lands. The drums beat to life within her landing, and the women of gold raise to encase her within the circle. Fingers have made their way to his shoulder causing him to whip his head back. There had been no warning and no sign of another so close, and yet Izuna is here beside him so suddenly as if to ground him and keep him from being completely immersed in her. Ebony come to ebony and he can only now let the air that sought to leave him out slowly.

The movement of the women of gold have stopped once more kneeling again, and it's here that he realizes he's missed her drawing her sword to gaze down the path towards the gates. A depicted creature of an ox, and tiger made of colorful fabric and comes for her with speed she had not had when she too had made the journey down the path. As it nears her she gives way to two swipes of her blade to each side of his head twirling into more evened flicks of her blade.

He does not understand her as much as he believed he did in these moments. She still was forever elusive and a mystery. She was still forever unable to be understood. The fabric flows with every step, and every sway she makes. The curls behind her do not hinder her movement in any way that she turns within the circle going round with the makeshift creature following her every move.

Fingers curl and he can only hope that his mother stands beside him to see the woman he had joined in marriage with in these moments. The fear he had felt has come back—it's heavy upon his chest. It's suffocating him. He is afraid of this woman. He is afraid of what power she holds. She is a mender, and a healer. She is a wife, and a nymph of spring. She held strength far beyond that of the men he had dragged into hell within this war bred of ideals. Effortless, and completely with ease she has rendered so many before her under her spell. She has taken them to the world of spring that he truly believes she has hailed from. She has encased them all within the slowest movements of time. She has rendered him defenseless—and that is what he fears. He fears the warmth that she gives to him. He fears the smiles she showers upon him. He fears those impossibly gentle fingers of hers within his ebony locks.

He, Sasuke Uchiha, could not be more afraid of Sakura Uchiha in this single moment.

The continuous flip she provides with her blade clenched within her teeth widens his ebony as she finally stands proudly with her arms fanned out from her sides. The being she is meant to defeat comes for her and with its approach she as set to move in a series of spins that rise and fall. Her fingers are always right where they need to be as she makes the dips within her twirls making the blade miss the women of gold that she glides in front of.

It's then in this moment of absolute raw fear that he feels the familiar touch of his mother. She is with him to witness this woman he has married. He knows that she would gaze upon the performance with intrigue, and he knows that she would feel the warmth that flows out from his wife's movements. In this fear she would squeeze his hand reassuringly. His eyes slowly remove themselves from the ethereal being to look at the woman who is not there, and never would be there in physical form. She may not truly be beside him, and yet he knows her to be there watching his wife with him. He knows she is smiling with tenderness at him coaxing a smile from his own lips because that was what this precious woman—gone from the world of the living—could do with ease.

The fear is washed from his being with the touch of the smile upon his lips, and it is with the same ease that his departed mother had in making him smile that he brings his ebony back to the rose-colored woman with the pride he was asked and meant to feel.

The beast falls, and she stands proudly within the center. Even in victory none speak, and the sounds of the instruments halt once more. The wind has returned to blow her locks and multicolored fabrics around her, and it's with that she brings her fingers up to the deer skull that has long since hidden her viridian. Those fingers pull it back releasing more of her hair to dance within the wind.

 _Her eyes glow—they have sought out his ebony_.

He takes in the paint upon her. Pale rose covers all around her eyes, and the bridge of her nose blended with mint green that decorates below her eyes out to her cheeks. Gems adorn the colors like a mask, and eyelashes he had expected to frame the viridian are not blackened but instead white. Gold paper flies through the air as the skull hits the floor released from her fingertips, and the praise that echos among all of them is deafening. There are sobs that come forth from many with wails of gratitude. He cannot see or hear them though. He is wrapped in all that she is. Viridian hold him and he will not remove his gaze from hers. What does this otherworldly woman see before her?

Her whispers of tradition echo within him, and with it he brings his hands up to press fist to palm bowing before her. All around him have witnessed this exchange—his leader, his family, his friend, his enemy, his closest of rivals among the war, his bystander, and _her_.

Her traditions are no less a mystery, but this one is clear. There is respect in this demonstration. There is the deepest of gratitude exchanged with these actions. There is pride and how much he wishes to convey it.

Viridian look upon him with tears threatening to fall— _had those wide doe-eyes ever glowed more than in this moment?_

He respects her. He feels pride in her.  
 _She holds a pride unlike any other_.

The pride she knows he has in this moment needs no words. He has shown it in ways that he could never fathom moved her, and brought with it even deeper love that he would only one day come to understand.

The blade that she had kept within hand drops carelessly within the fluttered down gold paper that continued to pour from those who throw it in the wind, and the chilling snow. Her feet have carry her to him with tears that stain, and streak the paint upon her face. There is no stopping her arms that come around his neck in these moments. There is no urge to push her away in this public display they show. There is only the need to bring her closer as she sobs upon his shoulder. Roughened fingers find their way within the curls as its partner presses upon her back to make her as close to him as possible.

There is no care for any who dare to gaze upon them.  
They would not stop this closeness that _they_ have created.

The gratitude that pours from her is whispered, and repetitious, and neither takes note of those that surround them with hands pressed upon her with pride, that was only second to his own, in congratulations. His cheek presses to her stained face of mixed pale rose, and green as he brings his lips to her ear with words only she needed to hear, "All of them— _they are all proud_."

She has brought pride to all of them, and called for the coming of spring. She knows who he speaks of—his mother, his father, and her father, god especially _her father_. She has done them beyond proud.

Waves of people, who have come to thank her, render him unable to bring her into the warmth she has long since needed for far to long. The feet deep within the snow have gone numb, and that is why he gives her no choice in allowing him to carry her upon his back. He has failed to give his intended leaving to his leader, and those that surround him.

She was his priority in this moment. She had taken the top of the list.

All who set their eyes upon them do so in mystification. Their greatest fear— _him_ , and their greatest pride— _her,_ are so close, and so attached that even with whatever disdain they may feel towards him give way to smiles of warmth and tenderness.

This woman did not see sides. She did not recognize Uchiha from Senju. She only recognized the need to heal. She only recognized the need to mend. She only recognized the need to play her part within this story of him, and her.

She would know now though to recognize his pride in her.  
There would be none who held pride in her the way he did now, and would forevermore.

* * *

 **Author Note** :

Far longer than I had hoped to take, but it's here, and I got it done. It took me longer than expected to get into the groove again, my dudes. I plan to be back to my standard bi-weekly updates though now that I've found my pace again. **So expected something around the 25th**. This I knew from the get go would be my longest chapter. It beats chapter ten easily at 11,070 words before the author note. So much research had to go into this stuff, and honestly I can say I still don't think I learned enough. The Chinese New Year stuff is probably not correct as everywhere I read it was different. I went with what I felt flowed the best here. Everything, though, mentioned from the ornaments, to the gods all has a purpose and a place regardless of it's minor point or major piece. This is no where near as magical as I wanted it to be but I hope that I got some of it out there. In my head this was so much more, and as a writer it just shows the growth I need to obtain to possibly one day make it that way in stories. Sakura's design for this concept is 100% my own, and I had to draw it out and research designs like crazy to really feel concrete about this. A lot of times when I read fanfictions that have stuff similar to this concept I notice we always go for a lack of clothing. I am in no way against this but I needed flowing fabric and I needed layers for this. As a cosplayer I have no problem with skin showing. I feel massively empowered when I adorn costumes like that for my events. This though I think needed a touch of modesty mixed with daring. For traditional events I felt it couldn't show too much, but had to show enough. It's so easy to strip these ladies down, but I wanted her to have that power with out that.

This is by far my favorite moment I have ever written. You have no clue how much I've waited for this. This is probably the single biggest event of this story and easily blows the others to the side. I wanted something heartfelt. I wanted something that sucked you. I wanted as a reader to feel the intensity and feel that moment where you just couldn't look away. As I said though, in my head, it was a much more magical event. I wrote this though, and I see what growth I need for future stuff.

Now I gotta find a way to top this. Lolfuckme.

 _Reeeeeviews cause that shit is always booooomb_.

 **777** \- Thanks for the birthday wishes, and I'm glad you could empathize and feel the family stuff I wanted to share. Like dude I just wanna hug you. I cannot handle your level of just absolute cuteness. Christ. Ahhhh jdsajdsalkjdsla but seriously dude I'm glad to respond and happy too. You take a small portion of your time to get real with me, and it's only fair I provide the same.  
 **Navika** \- Dude. The amount of just idon'tevenknow was so felt in reading your reply. Thank you for seeing me this way, and thank you for making me feel so unbelievably special. People think being soft is such a negative. It's not. It's just as powerful as the lion, and sometimes takes so much more heart. I always want to be close with others. I want to build those connections and I want to build them strong. I know I can't be friends with everyone, and I know that I won't get along with everyone. That's okay though because I'm always up for trying. You never know who is bound to enter your world, and while not everyone has a place beside you, you won't know until you make the attempt. Your parents sound absolutely wonderful. Seriously. I hope they feel the love you have for them, and I hope they know how much you appreciate them together and separate. Thank you again for the birthday wishes, and I hope that your parents enjoyed my ridiculous gushing over my parents haha.  
 **Guest, about ass kicking** \- Eh it'll show up. Gotta get that patience out my dude.  
 **Sanaa** \- I mean. I maybe can confirm a bit of said jealous sauce~ can't give way to too much tho lol  
 **Guest, who loved the chapter** \- Thank you so much for reading and reviewing dude! Thank you as well for the compliment!  
 **Guestluv** \- DUDE THAT CRINGE ASS SHIT WAS WORTH IT. I REGRET NOTHING. kinda. maybe a little. fuuuuck it. I hope you enjoy this shit cause jesus christ my dude. Just yaaaas. Also all them fucking hashtags on motherfuckin #point.  
 **Guest, who enjoyed everything from the last chapte** r - MYDUDEISTHISCHAPTERFORYOU. Thank you for reading and reviewing my dude!  
 **Jazz** \- Thank you for the birthday wishes! No apologies needed for the lateness! It's the thought that counts. I'm glad I can provide for my fandom and give back to those who ship the same ship I do!  
 **Guest, who was confused about reviews showing up** \- Ya, na my dude. You probably did and fanfiction ate it probably. A lot of my reviews from the last chapter were eaten, and some never even made it to my inbox. I had a situation where I'd either get an email notification but couldn't see it on the website, or vice versa. This isn't the first time it's happened either so it can be a bit frustrating for both of us because I feel like I genuinely end up missing some now.  
 **Guest, asking about my schedule on updates** \- the general timeline for me is every two weeks. That only changes if something comes up and prevents me from doing it, or if you guys catch up to where I am. At that point changes to my update schedule happen. I took about a month of during last chapter due to a convention, and now am needing to get further otherwise delays will occur. I do know in May I will be busy as well so there is possible delays that month with a trip to New York, and me moving into a new home.  
 **Guest, throwing down truth bombs about Shisui** \- SHISUI IS A BOY OF BEST. LETS BE HONEST. Honestly I always get nervous with Shisui cause I want no one to like assume I'm doing some ship shit with them (cause I'm not). I think it's healthy and good to have this kind of camaraderie between Saku and him, and it makes me love and appreciate his character so much more to be able to put him in this role. Thanks for reading and reviewing dude and taking a moment to tell me all of these things.  
 **Sharon** \- My duuuuude. I won't lie I considered how I would of written it if she had just lost it. I think though overall this was the best route to take. Naruto always gotta have that talk-no-jutsu on haaaaaaaaaaaaaand. It's a problem if we're being honest, but it doesn't mean I won't use it haha  
 **EvY** \- Love you too boo~ #bowchikawowwow As for your second review! Thank you for taking the time to read my work dude. If I can submerge you I'm on the right path, and that makes it so worth it. It means I've doing something right even when I think I'm not. This is actually why I'm big on slow burns because it makes everything so much worth it, and that's why i wanted it like this. I wanted those kinds of reactions. I get feeling strongly about a persons work. While sometimes it can be frustrating regardless of if it's good, bad, frustrating, ugly, okay, or absolutely amazing I definitely feel like a lot of them make it worth it. I've been able to connect with a lot of people through this story and that's the best part. I decided to come back to fandom for this sole reason, and I definitely would never let it keep me from continuing forward. Thanks so much for all the compliments, and taking the time to give me such a big confidence boost, my dude. Seriously!  
 **Guest, who kept refreshing** \- my bad dude, legit. I'm usually pretty good about staying on schedule but I ended up having some last minute out of town trips I ended up taking, and then I hurt my back this last week and wasn't able to do much until it was healed.  
 **ASH MY HOMIE MAKIN ALL THEM MONEY MOVES** \- MY GURL. I MISSED YOUR ASS. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH NO CRYING. I SWEAR TO GOD, MY DUDE. HOMIE LIKE I AM ALWAYS ON THE VERGE OF CANNOT, AND FEEL THIS EMOTIONALLY, DEEPLY, AND ADULTINGLY #toafuckingterriblepointlolfuck WE WILL MAKE THE GREATEST OF CHERRY TOMATO SALADS MY DUDE. JUST YOU WAIT. JUST YOU FUCKING WAIT #MAKEFANFICTIONGREATAGAINASHANDOMBREESTYLE Discord is like basically skype? It's the new thing all the kids are all about. I got insta it's . Hit my up yooooo I don't do snap as I honestly never just could get into it. I got twitter, insta, facebook, and all that other shit tho so trust me we got ways. WE WILL BE THE NEXT JK C.S. AUSTEN DICKENS OF OUR TIME. PM MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. #dudethelevelofthirstihaveforyouisunreal #noticemesenpai #lolalsoplssendmepie #allthisthroughcashcoloredlenses  
 **Guest, who reminded me it's been a month** \- I'm sorry OTL I'm a shitlord. Hopefully this extra long ass chapter makes up for it.

Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, or did both. Ya'll baller. #truestoftruths #yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasss


	12. The Answer

x.x.x

 **Chapter 12**  
The Answer

* * *

The amount of people who linger within the home of her cousin is more than she had imagined. They continue to give their praises, and they continue to give her tender squeezes upon her shoulder in thanks for the call to the spring that would surely come upon them. Her toes sit nestled within the water no longer hot and turned warm with time. The chill of the snow between her toes had been harsher than she had anticipated. Viridian move to gaze behind her looking for her husband sitting against the wall with a book in hand. He knows she is looking to him—it's that flicker of his gaze that tells her so.

There is a call from the hall announcing Madara's enter within this home that silences the room. Dragging her feet from the water meant to assist she stands. There is something within those hereditary endless ebony that she cannot place. It does not hold disgust, and it does not hold love. It's that something in between that has her bare feet bringing her to stand before him. Sasuke has made only the smallest of sounds as he comes to stand beside her discarding his book.

This man holds so much power within her family brought by marriage.

This is a man who sends her husband to war, this is a man who had her plucked from her home, and this is a man who could alter everything with a wave of his hand. His name sends fear deep within the hearts of any who speak. His presence silences those who stand before him. His entire being commands and controls. This is a man who sends her husband to war, this is a man who had her plucked from her home, and this is a man who could alter everything with a wave of his hand.

This moment where she stands before him makes her lungs feel heavy. There's no telling what he will say, and what he will do. There's only hope floating upon a sea of fear that she has done nothing to bring shame upon this family, and shame upon her husband.

 _Hope_.  
She dares to hope that she has pleased him— _dares to hope that_ _he looks upon her as those around her have_.

Fingers raise from the man and it's as they find their way to her head and pat upon her pale rose-colored hair that her viridian widen unprepared for the affectionate action. The firm press of his lips tilts gently, "Thank you for bringing a new form of pride to our family."

Her eyes sting with new tears threatening to fall at the praise he has given her. Those simple words of praise hold no shame. There is no shame upon this family, nor her husband brought by her. There is a pride, and there is recognition. This man has felt pride from her traditions—from the family he has taken within that powerful grasp of his. This man who struck fear into the hearts of millions stands before her with that gentle curve of his lips, and eyes that hold no disgust— _and it was caused by her_.

Her traditions have done this. Her family has done this.  
 _She has done this_ — _she alone has caused him to look at her family in this way_.

Their worlds were separated.  
 _Yet, in this moment they are one_.

This relief he's brought her cleanses that hope once floating upon a sea of fear. This relief lifts her lungs, and soars her heart. There is no fear before this man so powerful. There is only the wish to show how much her heart feels in this moment.

Voice shaken with his words she speaks with as much heart as she can bare without shedding her tears, "Thank you so much for watching me—"

The voice is loud, and mischievous as it cuts her off, "Sakura-chan, don't cry over that!" the laughs she lets fall cannot be contained letting the tears fall with the close of her lids.

"Naruto-san, hold your tongue, this is between clans." the voice of one she has not met properly scolds bringing her to gaze up eyes of crimson, and hair of silver.

Fingers press against her back, and it makes pale rose dust her cheeks, "Sakura. Move so they can come in properly!" her mothers voice calls from across the already filled room.

She's embarrassed by her lack of manners and following her husband's lead to move aside she lets them enter fully within the living space. They don't stay long, and yet she finds her gaze fleeting upon them even with each one giving her their own praise. Their names are but a blur, and their faces equally unable to keep her attention. It's well after they leave that she takes the time to properly give her feet the healing they need. The festival is far from over tonight, and she would take this opportunity to give her time to her husband. She has been without him for longer than she had ever intended, and while it's not as long as the war has taken him from her she has no intention of letting this opportunity slip from her grasp.

Her cousin teases her as she helps her within new clothes. Tenten does not give way to harsh words about the man that has killed those she sought to protect in the war. Instead, she gives way to idle curiosity. She gives the smallest of opinions— _he might not be as bad as the stories claim_.

The smile upon her face blossoms with those words. It produces a soaring heart that her cousin, who she was undeniably close to before her marriage, would say such things. The hanfu she has chosen for tonight is of the same viridian her mother had blessed her with, and a red that warms its surroundings with its color. Her cousin has been kind enough to leave her rose-colored strands mostly down to cover her neck from the cool air. The makeup she wears is light in comparison to the ritual she had performed. The fully painted face exchanged for that of something simpler—red upon her lids, eyes lined in black, and the slightest touch of red adorn her lips.

She's before him as her mother places the cloak of gray with a fur lined hood upon her shoulders in hopes to keep her warm within their walk throughout the festival. His arms have sought their own warmth within his sleeves, but it does not stop him from giving his arm to her as they make their way out. The scent that he holds—that marks him as him—fills her nose, and has her giving a gentle squeeze upon his arm without thought. The children that run throughout this night circle around them in their play. Each set of eyes that falls to her gives her the gentlest of smiles and a nod. This husband of hers was so very much a man of few words. It's something she has learned and expected within these almost two years.

 _Ah_.  
That's right, their anniversary was coming upon them.

This man of ebony has shifted within their walk. It seems she had let the realization fall from her lips in a hum. That forever firm press of his lips is present. The two years in which she had been bound to this man had been filled with tears. Her constant giving, and his constant taking was within every aspect of it. Yet, there is equally just as many smiles to go with each tear she's shed.

Those small attempts of his.  
They lingered within each aspect of her marriage.

There's another unintended squeeze upon his arm. Their marriage was far from perfect. He was doing all he knew how to do. He was taking the smallest of steps toward her. She could never ask for more. She would never ask for more. He was giving in the smallest of ways, but with the deepest of meanings. His bow to her today would mean more than he could ever imagine. It had given her strength. It had given her the chance to know that he, too, could look upon her with the same pride she did him. The pride he had held for his clan was now also being held for her.

They did not understand each other completely, but in that moment he and her had understood each enough.

There is a knowing look that decorates her face. She had forgiven him, and yet he was still silently, but surly apologizing to her. Little did he seem to realize there was no reason to continue these silent apologies. Soon after he had taken care of her in her shameful state that night she had forgiven him. Well before he had prepared her bath and gazed upon her from the side of the tub uttering words of apology she had forgiven him. Each apology he had ever given her she was answering. Each little thing he did was answered in forgiveness.

She would answer him again. This answer would not be forgiveness. This answer would be her looking to the future as they rebuilt their marriage. There's hope he'll hear this answer. There's hope he will understand her once more.

The match she has acquired as she makes him hold the lantern she has purchased will light with that answer. He's lowered the lantern so she can dip her hand within it lighting the candle. Her fingers brush his as they lower it to the river that runs within the village. The water is sharp in its chill upon their fingers. It's as they slowly let it go to join the rest that float brightly upon the water that she looks to him, and he raises those endless ebony to her. Fingers softly take his, and it's here that she becomes daring. Leaning forward she feels him taken back by her intrusion to his personal space. This reassuring squeeze upon his hand is entirely her, and entirely intended.

Her lips press against his cheek. His breath has become caught within his throat as she pulls back from him, "Happy New Year, Sasuke-kun. May the year bring peace with it."

His pale complexion has given way to the palest of red upon his cheeks. This look is so incredibly boyish— _so unlike the man,_ who held such lackadaisical attempt etched upon his face like a mask. He's scowling and has removed his gaze from her, but it's that squeeze upon her fingers that he now gives back that tells her he has heard her answer.

 _He has understood her once more._

They continue forward throughout the town as the fireworks shoot off. Her best friend with all her gorgeous blonde locks, and eyes of pale blue shift upon her husband with distaste. She does not let it stop her from pressing fingers upon his arm as they speak. Ino Yamanaka had always been one to tease, and protect her. She had always been one to stand beside her, and while she had not been there to protect her from the Uchiha, nor her father's death she had made sure to come for her when she walked through the gates of Konohagakure. She had been there to give her congratulations upon hearing that the little girl she had protected in their youth had chosen to dance in the hopes for spring. This woman was an important part of her world, and now it's with her viridian that she asks silently for her to welcome this man, who was now also an important part of her world.

Lee is no exception as they come across him not far from where they have left Ino. He too gives forth those same looks of distrust. This boy had shouted his love to her within their youth. He trained hard, and he strived to become a shinobi everyone could depend on. His heart was made of gold. She had never returned his feelings, but she did not belittle them either. She loved him in a way so different from his own. She loved him as a friend, and she loved him as a brother. He was forever tied to her by those labels, and so it's with her gaze steady that she shares a tender smile his way with fingers giving him his own reassuring squeeze upon his arm. He does not need to worry over her with so much heart. Someone else would love him far more than she could. The man who stays silent behind her may be his enemy, but he is her husband, and he should give his trust in him. It won't be today, but one day it will happen.

 _She is sure of that_.

The hate those who love her feel towards her husband is reasonable. She, too, had once held such a look upon this man. He has killed many, and he fights against them even in the cease fire that comes with her traditions. Their distaste, their disgust, and their loathing of him would not vanish just because she stood beside him. It would take much more than that to make them accept him. There's time to build those foundations though. There's time for them to gain trust in his protection of her. There's time for them to see the man he is behind the legend. There would be a moment in time for all of that.

Viridian find those of honey. It's what makes her stop within her steps making her husband turn to her. Her mouth is parted, and it's without thinking that she releases his arm to run forward. Her heart is loud as she stops before the woman of golden locks. Those honey-colored eyes have widened and her mouth has parted. It does not stop her from wrapping her arms around the woman. The woman has spoken her name in adoration as she returns the embrace with a squeeze before pulling apart.

"I didn't think I'd get to see you before you left." the woman's fingers grasp her hood bringing it down to her shoulders.

"I'm sorry I did not come when you arrived in the village." this woman was yet another who would surly hold disdain for her husband, and even with knowing that she steps back from her turning to introduce her husband, who has followed within his own pace, "Please, meet my husband."

The honey and the endless ebony have met. There is a scowl deepening upon this woman's face. It's with the deepest of inhales that she cuts through the silence, "Sasuke-kun, this is Tsunade-shishou. She is the one who taught me all that I know."

Her husband is as stoic as ever, but she knows that this woman has captured some form of interest when he does not bring his eyes to her. There's a moment where she sees him part his mouth, and then the tightening of his jaw occurs showing him swallowing whatever he had intended to say. Ebony fall from the woman to gaze upon the ground fleetingly before coming back. He steps forward, and then gives a subtle nod of his head, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

There's that silent apology he gives. He's giving it again. He knows this woman holds venom within her at the sight of him, and even now he washes it off. He knows this woman is important to her. He knows that she is adored by this woman. He is taking that small step forward, and that is what matters most.

It's as not until they are giving farewells that his voice, smooth and deep, cuts through the air, "Thank you."

The spring wife cannot stop her head from whipping to him in that gratitude. The blink that follows through is equally involuntary. It makes her drag her viridian from him to see the look that decorates the golden haired woman. Those honey-colored eyes of hers do not understand the gratitude.

She understands it though. He is thanking her for the time in which this woman had taught her, and he is thanking her for the time in which she had become important to her. The smile that blossoms from this gives forth the deepest of bliss.

They understand so little of each other, but it's in this moment that they understand each other completely, and that is what matters most of all.

 _She is sure of that._

* * *

The gates are within the distance. They are finally within reach of their home. The travel was long, and the travel was exhausting. Her husband saw no need for breaks, and only with the slightest look would he finally give in. Just beyond those gates stood a place that she called home.

 _She had missed her home_.  
 _She had missed her people_.

Just beneath this cloak of cream sat the emblem of her clan. It had not had the chance to sit upon her back within her traditions. It's within this deep blue cheongsam that she is able to display it once more.

The people that greet them beyond the gates do so with their smiles deep within their eyes. There are those who come before her as they walk through telling her of how beautiful her performance had been, and others that come to personally greet her husband's return. It's late within the day as dusk is settling over the horizon giving the sky those beautiful deep colors of purple, and peach, and even still the children flock to him. There are the few who pull upon her cheongsam making her kneel to drag her fingers within their locks playfully. He has picked one up—it's Hikaku's. He's scolding them gently for being out late, and to return home. Not once does he release Hikaku's child.

He brings Hikaku's child back within his mother's arms just a little ways from the doors that seek to greet them. The air still holds its chill, but it has lessened within the days after the new year. Snow still crunches beneath their shoes, and yet it is far less in supply.

The maids are there at the door way. They give a unified welcome home that rings within the air. She had heard many times that home was where the heart was, and it's as they make their way within the bedroom and she's left her bag to the left of the sliding doors that she decides they're not wrong. These people had captured her heart just as her husband has. They intended to keep it locked here.

She welcomes that. She hopes for that.

Their sleeping attire has found its place upon their shoulders. They stand within the kitchen as she brews leaves for tea meant to help them sleep. The silence is comforting as she grabs forth cups. There are no glances his way as he cuts a single apple. They've fallen into place so effortlessly.

His fingers press upon her back as he brings the plate of apple slices to sit beside the awaiting cups. There is no need for words. Her fingers grab upon the cinnamon within the cupboard above her and give it a gentle shake upon the freshly cut fruit.

The warmth from the kettle radiates from it providing another form of comfort. She opens her mouth as her husband brings a single slice to her mouth. Biting down she lets the taste flood her tongue. He brings the half eaten slice to his own mouth swallowing it whole.

They bring their snack, and tea with them sitting upon the futon. The silence is not loud, nor is it deafening. It is the proof of their falling into place. She's blowing upon his cup of tea meant to help with his sleep, and aches from travel. They had not shared much in conversation upon the road home. He longed for home just as much as she had. She had followed him with no desire to slow him down.

Home was truly where the heart was.

It's as she cradles his cup out to him that she whispers within the quiet of their home, "This should help with any fatigue, and provide good sleep."

"Ah." he is gentle in taking the warm cup within his own fingers.

They sip upon their tea, and their fingers brush against each others as they take from the small plate of apple slices before he whispers within the silence, "Do all in your family have that enhanced strength?"

Her lips curve upon the rim of her cup taking in the warm liquid before answering his curiosity, "Chakra enhanced strength is something I learned from Tsunade-shishou, and isn't something taught by family."

"So, your dance was different from those in previous years?"

"You could say that. The movements were the same but the desperation, and force behind them was all my own. . . I wanted _him_ to feel me wherever he may linger."

His fingers stop within their motion to bring his cup to his lips as ebony look to her. It makes her bring her eyes to him as she feels the gravity of his gaze upon her, "Your father felt you. Whatever desperation you held he heard it. He stood among us to watch you." his closeness comes with his words, and his forehead has pressed against her own, "We all felt you pleading for the spring on our behalf."

Fingers tighten briefly upon the cup she holds upon her lap. There is no escaping the earthly aroma that comes from him so close to her and the pride that flows within his words, " _Thank you._ "

Viridian open slowly at the feel of his fingers within her locks that swim untamed, "What was Kizashi-san like?"

"Hm, to describe such an ornery man—he was like the warmth you feel from the early morning sun. He always smiled—not one of those small gentle ones—they were loud, and bright and it was so hard to be angry with someone who just brightened the room in the way he did." she dares with the slowest of movements to let her fingers wander upon his mouth, "He is the kindest soul I have ever known. He loved and gave with no desire to receive anything back. No mistaking it, though, he had the worst jokes. Ah, he would have teased you endlessly for frowning so much." the smallest of light laughs fall as her fingers curl under his chin to allow her thumb to rub against his pale cheek.

His eyes close before her and she takes that as his recognition of what she has said. It's only a moment of time—seconds if she were being honest—before his voice low and soothing finally comes to her ears.

"Innocence, simplicity, and the nature of life." She cannot stop the low and fatigued noise of confusion from coming from her mouth, "In my culture, that is what your name stands for. What had made them call you that?"

He's spinning the smallest of strands upon his fingers. There is affection with each slow turn of his fingers to wrap them deeper within her rose-colored locks. She holds no hesitation in answering his innocent curiosity, "My name is brought by two cultures. It carries my mama's culture with the meaning of power, feminine beauty, and sexuality, but looks and is spoken as the word brought about by my papa, and your culture."

"It is the joining of two people." his voice is low within her ears as their noses meet, "A union."

The tire that has settled upon her does not stop her lips from curving into a smile at the gentle notion he is making of her parents, "A _marriage_."

Roughened finger tips that still wrap within her pale locks brush against her cheek. This moment is entirely intimate. She welcomes it reveling within the aroma of her husband and their tea. It's all calming, and warming her skin. There's no missing the deep inhale he takes with how close they are. He looks soothed, and pleased. It's not decorating his face openly, but there's no missing it within the slightly parted mouth he has given into, and the close lids that hide his endless ebony.

Pleased—it is what she feels heavy upon her chest in witnessing such a thing.

"Sasuke-kun." she muses quietly between them, "You need rest."

There's a knowing in his reluctance to pull from her as he goes back to sipping his tea. It's that reluctance that makes her press her hand to his leg covered by the comforter upon them. Only the sounds of their sipping lingers within the room, and then as he takes her empty cup within his fingers and places it with the empty plate upon the tray beside him do they nestle deeper within their comfort of their futon.

Her fingers grasp his hand underneath the warmth of the comforter. They give way to soothing circles upon his calloused knuckles. It's his voice tonight that gives her peace from her exhaustion, "You said you felt desperate—you're not alone. I'll make you believe you're not alone."

She can only wonder if the exhaustion has made his lips loose to say such a thing, "You're so unbelievably kind."

There's a shift of his head upon the pillow as if to tell her she is wrong, "I will protect you."

Their lids dip closed as they fall within their fatigue.

The only lingering thought she has is that she'll cherish her name more than she had in the days before. Her husband had given a new meaning to her name. He had felt it showed the joining of her mother, and her father. That was something she had never thought deeply of, and he in that way that was entirely him, had decided.

 _There is certainty that he is right_.  
She could not ask for more than what she has received.  
She had truly gained so much within their marriage.

He was teaching her, and she was teaching him.  
They were growing together, and they were learning together.

* * *

He is not forced to leave her side immediately at the end of the cease fire and their return home. The village has made sure to keep them busy with his stay. She has set to take care of the villages finances, and he has set to take care of lingering trade issues for today. They speak informally as they had begun to before she had left his side in those weeks. They gaze upon each other no longer as strangers as they cross paths in taking care of all that they had left when they spent their time within Konohagakure.

There is no doubt that her hands are full as she goes through the books detailing all that they have spent within the year. Her handmaid is there to assist with such matters. He, though, is deep within the market discussing the issues that have caused a low supply of certain items.

The war had made things dangerous for those seeking to refill their stock.

There's a nod of his head in understanding their frustrations. He knows this will not be an easy fix, and will be one that takes time while he leaves them for the frontlines. It only proves how much more he will have to do throughout this year. They do not blame him, and they give way to apologies for burdening him when they know he does all that he can to keep them safe from the Senju, and Uzumaki.

The most he can provide them is his own gratitude, and wishes to meet with them again once a better solution becomes more approachable. He instructs them to write up their routes, and where the most trouble seems to be. He will employ those he can to help bring in the supply as long as it does not harm their chances in battle.

It's as he leaves that he takes in the white that falls lightly upon them. While his otherworldly wife had called for spring it still feels as though the spring will not grace them with it's presence for weeks to come.

The smell of the food within the market only sets to make him wonder if she is still deep within the financial books back in their home. He remembers his wonder upon if she liked sweet things—she had liked her tea sweet he had learned that day, and the days to come. Sweet truly did fit the woman of pale rose-colored strands. He lingers within the stands eyeing that which fills his nose—would she like mochi, or maybe mitarashi dango? Perhaps daifuku?

"Get the mitarashi."

Ebony widen finding themselves upon Hikaku's wife. She holds the hand of her child so fond of him, and he cannot help but wonder how long she has watched him as he lingered upon what it is that his wife may like.

She can only give him the smallest of smiles, "She typically gets them when we get lunch together at the tea shop. She has quite the love for them, especially during hanami."

There's a tint of embarrassment upon him, and he questions if the heat he feels upon his cheeks is from the winter chill, or the woman giving way to things he had not known. This woman had spent far more time with his wife than he had—he has no reason to think she is wrong. They had become close while he was out to battle. They had held so much heart in the previous year during hatsumode.

He buys what she has told him to, and it's as he carries her child upon his arm, and the bought dumplings within a bag in his other that they walk towards his home.

"You're changing. Slowly." there's amusement in her voice.

His ebony keep themselves upon the road ahead, "I am the same as always."

"There is a gentleness there that has not been there in a long time." she has turned her gaze to him, "Would it be so wrong to change?"

That is what makes him stop within his walk to finally gaze upon this woman, who too had suffered loss not so long ago, "There is no room for such a thing in war."

"There is always room for it. At first, I did not know how to handle your wife, but she quickly found her way to all of us. She had come for me when I needed someone most. She brings a calm with her that seems so foreign in times of war." the mother weaves her fingers through her child's hair, "I am forever in her debt for being the one to give me a shoulder to lean on when he had passed. I do not know if I could have picked myself up without her hand holding mine."

It's as she speaks that he feels the loss of her husband upon him just as harsh as it had been when he watched him fall in battle, "Your family has given us more than enough."

"Don't feel such pain in his absence. He fought beside you with pride—every single time. He gave himself to your service because he wanted nothing more. My husband cherished all of it." it's here that she takes her child from him with a warmth he knows he has felt with his mother, "There is a strength in all that she does. She has not come for just me. When you are gone she goes to others to give them the same hand she used to hold mine. _We, Uchiha, love far deeper than anyone else_. She may be one of marriage but she is _no exception_."

". . .I only seek to keep her safe." he is hesitant within his reply—he does not know where this hesitation comes from.

"Is that not where love begins? The desire to keep one safely protected?" there is the softest of laughs that fall from her, "I do not know what has happened, nor do I know what it is you truly feel for her—only you can answer such things. There is admiration for her though. There is a greater care for her. That is plain for all to see."

He can only swallow thickly as she give her farewells. He had been unable to give her a reply to what she had said—he finds himself unable to deny all that she has spoken. He does not know if he would call this love. He had not lied when he said he had sought to keep her safe. This woman, although only older than him by few years, seemed wise in all that she spoke. She had spoken with clarity, and she had spoken as if she, too, had been in these moments of uncertainty once upon a time.

These feelings were so foreign—just as foreign as the unearthly spring nymph that was his wife. Ebony glance upon the bag within his hand. She was a stubborn and proud woman—she was slowly regaining all that she was. He had needed her back, and he would continue to do what he could to help her regain that. She was still ethereal, otherworldly, and a nymph of spring—he still cannot see her as anything else even as they approach their second anniversary. She contrasted so much when she stood beside him—he would have it no other way. She smiled with such warmth from the bottom of her heart—he had begun to long for those looks.

The widow had spoke of how they had not known how to handle her. He, too, had not known, and was only now beginning to understand this spring nymph. The admiration she spoke of was true. He felt a pride with her beside him. He held her to new heights. He could only be thankful for those who treasured her in such adoration—was there any who did not?

His walk home is one filled with more of the same thoughts. The maids give their welcome, and he gives a nod as he passes them through the halls, and it is as he comes to find her deep within the stacks of books she is set to look over that he can only decide that the widow is right—perhaps this was the beginning of such things.

She seemed to not hear him within the door way. Those fingers of hers are deep within the rose-color strands as her other hand scribbles upon a book in front of her. She is within the warmth of the kotatsu, and it's only as he comes around her to sit before her that she looks up.

"Ah, I'm sorry Sasuke-kun, welcome home. Let me—"

"Here." he slides the bag before her making those viridian gaze with curiosity.

Her fingers take the bag within her hand and it is as she looks within it that her mouth parts just slightly, "How did you—"

"You like them, don't you?" he cannot look at her, and yet he desires to see what expression decorates those features of hers.

"I do." the warmth that he knows comes from deep within her is coating those words.

He cannot contain the ghosting smirk that is upon the corners of his lips in feeling that warmth. He feels that same heat upon his cheeks that he had when the widow had told him what it is she had liked. There is the most pleasing of sounds that comes from her that finally make him drag his gaze to her. This is a look he has not seen before as she eats one of the dumplings from the skewer. The look is that of a child—it is innocent, and holds strong satisfaction.

His fingers slide the book that she had been scribbling in as he had entered towards himself. She has gotten much of it done—far more than he would have within the hours she's been at it.

"Sasuke-kun, would you like some?" viridian hold mirth within them as she holds out the bag for him to take one as well.

He gives a shake of his head with the smirk deepening as he sets his gaze back upon the book flipping through it's pages. She is organized, and detailed within the pages she's filled out. He finds he would have expected no less. She had shown her intelligence before, and this only serves to prove it once more. There's a neatness to everything she does. She has never been one, he realizes, to leave her things in a mess. He cannot recall a time within his marriage when he had ever seen her do such a thing.

This is another thing he has learned—it was another thing he had _overlooked_.

Her handmaid is quick to bring tea to them both. The green liquid is hot and soothing to the tongue as they set about working. She flips through another book as his eyes look over one he too has pulled from the stacks. His eyes dance upon her with every nibble she takes of the mitarashi dangos. She is one to eat with her mouth closed. She sips softly from her tea. It's all simple and it's all ordinary, and yet he feels as though she eats far too proper. She bites her lip when she is in concentration, and her fingers glide upon pages as if everything she touches is sacred. Those pale rose-colored brows pinch together within her concentration, and the glow of her viridian are calculating as she adds the numbers in front of her together.

They had broken through the stare of strangers, and they had broken through conversation laced in formality. Yet, he does not know where her ideals lay. Does she truly support him, and those that follow his leader? The difference in their ideologies seemed so small, but he cannot stop himself from laying the brush within the ink to sit as he takes her in. What is it that she felt with this war?

"Sakura."

Those concentrated brows of hers, and that lip she had bit into lessen immediately with his voice. He finds subtle enjoyment at her constant change in expression with just his voice. Viridian hold that same curiosity they had when he had slid the bag of dango before her.

"Yes, Sasuke-kun?"

"What do you want in this war?" ebony watch every fall of those thick lashes within her confusion. There's a shift of her mouth as if she is contemplating what he has asked her.

"I want what everyone wants— _peace_." her fingers lay her own brush within the bottle of ink as she gazes into his ebony.

"You do not agree with our methods." he speaks low as his gaze falls from her for only the briefest of moments, "You believe in peace brought by _love_."

Her fingers slide from the table to her lap as she gives a nod, "I do. That is why I support you and all that you do." her words have made his ebony fall upon her again.

" _You support me_?" the words carry an uncertainty—they carry forth the wonder of what she means.

 _He is trying to understand her_.

"Yes. I believe in a peace brought by _love_." he does not need to see her fingers tucked underneath the kotatsu to know she is playing with them upon her lap in what he can only assume is nervousness, "I care for you _deeply_ , and so, therefore, I believe in a peace brought by _you_."

There's that sense of pride heavy upon him with those words. There's that bite of her lip and those pinched brows. There's the shake of her head as if she has said something wrong, and in those few seconds he feels the pride fall from him as he reads regret thick upon her.

He feels the harsh swallow go down his esophagus as he takes his ebony from her to gaze upon the mats beneath them— _she regrets saying such things to him_.

"Sasuke-kun—please allow me to answer you properly." her voice is strong and that is what makes him once more bring his eyes to her, " _I love you—with all of my heart._ " Endless ebony widen, and his lips give way to the slightest drop of his mouth as she continues forward with her confession, "Peace brought by love can come in many forms. It is because I love you that that I believe in a peace brought by you." those fingers have come within the fabric of her kimono gripping it tightly as her cheeks light with a rose-colored tint far darker than her own locks.

The pride that had fallen in what he thought was regret has coated him once more. The regret he had saw was not regret in supporting him—it had been regret in not speaking her feelings clearly.

Had his wife always been so _innocent_?  
So flushed?  
So demure?

This confession she has given is one he was not prepared for. The pride that has swelled within him at it though is unmistakable. He realizes he is not startled by her words of love. He does not know how long he has thought she had come to care for him on this level. He does not know at what point within their marriage he had come to the conclusion that this woman before him, decorated in such innocence, had loved him. No—what has startled him was that he never thought he would hear them fall from her lips. He never thought there would be a time when Sakura Uchiha would allow herself to say the words out loud for him to hear.

" _Thank you_." he cannot stop his fingers from pulling upon his fringe as if it will hide him from her as the gratitude leaves his lips.

Sasuke is the one who feels washed within the timid air around them. The timorousness lingers in each flicker of his eyes. The courage, and the nerve is there though—the courage to steal a look at her from beneath his fringe. He wants to look at her. He wants to see what face decorates her in this moment. He wants to see the face of this woman who allowed herself to say her _love clearly._

It's now or never _._  
 _He wants to know the secrets of her heart._

Her viridian are there to meet his endless ebony.  
 _They glow within this shared gaze._

The smile decorated upon her is tender, but wide. The smile that has found it's way upon her features reaches her eyes and is genuine, and from her heart. It is from deep within her, and has given him the chance to see it—it's the beaming smile within the photo lost within the remains of Tanigakure.

She had told him of what she wanted. She wanted peace, and he can only hope to give that to her. His new found motivation in the battles to come has become even stronger. He feels this pride upon him in thick waves. He feels this support that she has put in him, and that she looks to him to bring about a world that she believes in.

The Senju, and Uzumaki's belief in a peace brought by love did not seem so ridiculous within these moments.

 _He would bring a peace brought by her love_.

* * *

 **Author Note** :

I needed some absolute chill in this story, and so chapter twelve for me really brings that home. I wanted domestic, and I wanted a moment for them to slow down. I'm also pretty sure this is the most dialogue I've had in a chapter, and I also wanna say this is probably the fluffiest chapter this story has at this point. When beat read this chapter she said that she would have liked to known Sasuke's thoughts in meeting her friends. I felt it didn't have a place simply because with the way I write each individual part of a section it focuses on one or the other. It's never a "god" perspective that can see all and so it realistically is just impossible for Sakura to know what he's thinking throughout these exchanges. The point of this chapter tho was to reach a level of understanding between them on a emotional, and mental level. You'll never understand someone completely, but that doesn't mean you can't reach an understanding of who the person is. A lot of this shit makes me cringe tho because I questioned if it was too thick on fluff, and too thick on cheesy ass lines. This is why I hate dialogue and do far better with mental shit, but you gotta do it to get better lol

THAT CHAPTER 181 REFERENCE THO. PROUD OF THAT SHIT.

On a side note. After I posted last chapter I never noticed that FF removed my username for insta in the author note until like two days ago. So I'll have a link for it on my profile for those who were wanting it.

Also lowkey if ya'll would like a Sasuke version of that particular scene I would consider writing it and posting it separately. I had already been considering dropping questionable content that was written but never made it in the final piece as it is. Is that something you guys would want?

Them guuuuest reviews

 **777** \- My dude. I am a total sucker for Mikoto and Sasuke moments. Like that woman loved her baby boy. No one can tell me different. I will fight them. Truest of true stories. I'm glad you enjoyed all the little things I tried to put into that last chapter. Like I said though, I wish I could have done more since it was a major part of this story. Itachi, my dude. He is always interesting to write, and I definitely am dying to get to more of him djsakldjslak thanks for reviewing dude I always love what you put down.  
 **Guest, who felt captivated** \- DUDE I WANTED THAT CAPTIVATION SO HARD. I'M SO GLAD I COULD OBTAIN THAT. I feel like in performances and things like that there's always gotta be a point of captivation, and so if I can land that I'm on the right track.  
 **Guest, who loved it** \- Iloveyoubro#eyebrowwiggle  
 **Guest, who didn't know where to start** \- TELLING YOU MY DUDE SHISUI IS A BEST OF BOYS. HE IS THE DUDE THAT WE DESERVE. Although legit I always feel like he's so out of character OTL I cannot wait to have more of Itachi. He never makes big appearances but when he fucking does dude I always want it to be meaningful, and important. DUDE IF I COULD POP THIS OUT ONTO VIDEO I WOULD. BELIEVE ME I WOULD. WHERE'S MY MOVIE DEAL AT? #shot. Thanks for the bombass review my dude!  
 **Guest, who thanked me for posting it** \- My dude, it was my pleasure. Thanks for reviewing.  
 **Tiffanycr** \- I'm glad, my dude!  
 **Navika** \- There's always a certain kind of just "BAM" factor to modesty to a point that I think a lot of writers, movie makers, etc etc forget. I'm glad I could bring that shit home though. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing dude seriously it's always a pleasure to hear from you.  
 **Anonym** \- JDSADJKSLA. I'm so glad I could move you like that, my dude. Thanks for reading and reviewing!  
 **Wow** \- omgdudejadksjaldksa thank you!  
 **Guest, who said this was the best chapter yet** \- Thanks, my dude! I appreciate it!  
 **Guest, who said it was beautiful** \- I appreciate this my dude!  
 **Guest, who felt like part of the crowd** \- Thank you, my dude! I always try to make sure I get all of those feelings and thoughts out there but sometimes worry I over do it, or I repeat myself to often. I want them to be recognized tho and I want them to be felt. Super happy to hear I could transport you into a new world with my writing, and can't thank you enough for the review!  
 **WAHHHH** \- Dude I will continue to do my best! I'm glad I can give you something!  
 **Nana** \- A lot of people actually brought up Madara's feelings on all of this stuff, and while it's not presented here it'll eventually become a thing. I can confirm Itachi saw this. The Senju is a character I made cause I refused to character assassinate a canon character for my own devices (That and dude all the known Senju were fuckin kids and I just cannot bring myself to level their asses up for a fanfic). He's coming back so prepare yourself.  
 **Guest, who loved this chapter** \- Totes glad to do it when you send me stuff like this!  
 **TheDailyRoutine** \- Thanks, my dude!  
 **Fiona** \- Haha the author's note is actually one of my favorite things as well. I'm a whole lot of extra and sometimes I just need to let it out haha. Sometimes I feel I have made them OVERLY traditional and it makes me paranoid about OOC tbh THAT'S SO COOL YOU THINK I'M FUN. LIKE DUDE THATS SUCH AN AWESOME THING TO HEAR AND IT MAKES ME FEEL SO COOL. AJKLDJLAKJDSKLADJSAKL. I honestly wanted to make sure this story had the feel of the scenery which is why it's not quite like my other works, and I struggle sometimes and become unsatisfied with things I've done in it. A lot of times I feel like some sections don't necessarily fit with the feel and because of this I have a lot of stuff that won't ever make it into the published piece. I remember being an awkward duck in my early twenties (who the fuck am I playing. . . I'm still an awkward duck at 26), and so I feel like that for some stuff you just need that. It's how you grow and learn to be around others, and how to handle certain situations. Thanks so much for the review dude I enjoyed it immensely!  
 **Sara** \- I'm a major fan of color theory. Color holds such an important part of everything we do. While Yellow and Gold are known to represent freedom from worldly cares it also is considered an anxiety color. I tried to make sure I played on that tbh even tho I never actually mentioned it. Itachi definitely contrasts with the theme of freedom with worldly cares and I'm glad you caught that. On the topic of moving past hatred I can honestly say this was something on a personal level. I have had someone do something to me that caused me to feel an intense hatred, and I became a bitter person for roughly two years. The constant thing I heard was the fact I was "always angry" or I was "always ready to snap". It took me a long time to become strong enough to move forward and stop living in that moment. The thing this person did to me is still unforgivable. In fact the anniversary for it is on March 31st. What they did to me will never leave me, and there is no way to ever truly let it go, but it's all about how I finally stopped allowing it to hold me so tightly and finally start stepping forward. It may have molded me into this person I am today, but it definitely didn't define me. I had to let go of that hatred because it was toxic, and it wasn't healthy. I let people in my world who fed off my hatred, and continued to make me believe I should always be angry. I allowed these people to feed me this idea that the angrier I was the better off I would be. They were wrong tho. I couldn't continue to live like that. There's nothing more earth shattering than being told that you actually "scare" your friends. There's nothing more humiliating then letting some girl continue to control me even after she was sentenced to prison for what she had done. I had to be stronger then her. I had given her to much of my time, and too much of my life. I had to start learning to become the person I was meant to be, and that was to go back to being the person who stood tall. I had a lot of support back then from family and friends, and I had people there who took a lot of abuse from me because I let fear hold onto me. That wasn't cool, and I have made sure to give back ten fold because they are what I needed and even with how much I scared them back then they still didn't let go cause while they knew I would never be the person I was before there would be a time when I pull through and would pull forward. I would be the person they loved, and the person they smiled with. I would be the person who was there when they needed me most, and I would be the person who continues to give even when there is nothing to gain. I had Naruto say the things he did because what he says is so unbelievably true. Hatred is absolutely heavy. It swallows you whole, and you miss out on so much because of it. I may have lost two years of my life but at the end of the day I still have so many more to go. I appreciate life a lot more because of what I went through, and I recognize the fragility of it just the same. I may have PTSD, Depression, and Anxiety but that doesn't define me. I had to swallow a lot of pride but I gained so much more in return. Never let people control you. Never let them take those years from you. Never let them define you. Only you can do that. Remove those people, and move forward. Always step forward, forever and always. Always be the person YOU want to be, and for godfuckingsake cry. Let that shit out. Sob until it's gross. Never let yourself bottle it up. Your body needs that. Your mind needs that. Your heart LITERALLY needs that. All of you needs that. Crying isn't weakness. It's you stopping yourself from losing yourself. It's you letting out that hurt, and it's you letting go of those fears. Genuinely, wholeheartedly just be the person you need to be for yourself, and for those around you. Every March 31st the first thing I do when I wake up is cry and it's worth every fucking tear. It's worth all of my future fears, and it's worth all of who I am as a person. It's what I deserve. Too many people have gave me that hand when I needed it most not to do this so that I can walk out this goddamn apartment and smile at them and tell them I'll be okay.

#coughimsosorryIjustletthatshitripomgdude

ANYWAYS, I've been ready for this moment for Sasuke for a while, and when I first wrote it there was definitely a sense of accomplishment. Easing him forward into a scenario of love when you've locked yourself up is always frightening, and so that's why that was one of my favorite chapters. I've actually seen Memoirs and it's one of my favorite movies. I loved the feel of that story, and I have actually read the book (no shocker the book is even better). Thanks so much for the review, my dude. I appreciate it and I apologize I basically jumped on that little soapbox #imlegitsorrybuteventhonowimsittinghereawkwardlyimnotremovingitcausemaybesomeoneneedstobetoldthosethings  
 **Bleach Power** \- The best things come like that. Moving a character too fast imo cheapens them and so I'm just glad I can move Sasuke forward slowly but surely. Thanks for the review my dude.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read. I appreciate your time, and look forward to next time.


	13. The Understanding

x.x.x

 **Chapter 13**  
The Understanding

* * *

It's as she stands before him within the long sleeved cheongsam of dark plum that he finds himself stopping her attempt to hang the cloak of cream upon her shoulders, "The one of gray and fur."

Her lips have parted at his request, and within only seconds her handmaid is speaking to another to grab what he has requested. She does not say a word, but instead gives the smallest of smiles as she steps closer to him adjusting the gi of dark blue hue, "I'm sorry it took so long to get ready. My hair has become far too long—I keep forgetting to cut it."

"Don't." he breathes out between them with her so close within his personal space.

"Sasuke-kun, it's so long though." she has let out the smallest of laughs at this new request of his.

"I like long hair on you." his voice is warm between them as his fingers brush within the unpinned fringe that has long since passed her chin.

"Let me at least clean up the front. It's started to get in the way when I'm healing."

He gives but a hum of approval for such things as the maid brings forth her cloak of deep gray lined with fur. They assist in tying it shut as he puts his own cloak of deep black upon his own shoulders.

The maids see them off, and they are quick to join the others as they travel for a meeting with the Hyuuga. He had foreseen such things coming after seeing them within Konohagakure. The journey is early within the morning—the sun barely coming to shine upon them as they head from the gates.

Early mornings still hold a brisk temperature, and yet the days have started to warm themselves within the last few weeks. They had entertained smaller meetings with those of high rank who made their way through. She never spoke out of turn, and yet there were glances between them within each visit. There is a silent understanding of what the other thinks.

 _Their steps forward would be unified—both on the battlefield and off_.

It's in those meetings, which planned for future battles, that he finds himself turning to her to see if she knows the land far better than those present. There are times she does, and then there are times she only gives but the smallest shake of her head unable to provide assistance to them. He finds himself looking to her as if seeking approval for a proposed strategy, or the smallest tilt of her head to give sign that there's concern with such an approach.

They are a sign of _respect_ between them.  
They are a sign of _mutual trust_.  
 _They are a sign of another layer meant to strengthen their marital foundation_.

The battles they have planned will be on them soon if this meeting does not hold an accepted agreement between them all. He has his faith within his leader as he always has, and yet he wonders if there is more at play than originally thought when remembering the eldest daughter of the Hyuuga present.

Neji had spoken within privacy well before now of Hiashi's desire to keep her from the war torn world. Seeing her there makes him believe some form of a compromise has been made, and that they will soon be able to move passed this twelve year long war.

There would never be a joining of Uchiha and Senju— _too much blood had fallen between the two to make such unions_.

A union of Hyuuga, and Uzumaki is what they most likely would bring together. It held the most promise to join the two sides without giving too much from those who dominated. He was second in line for leadership, and while he would not see the top he can understand what it is that his leader plans. He could see what it was that they were orchestrating off the battlefield clearly, and he finds he is not as against it as he would have thought.

 _There is no desire to take the title of leader_.  
Madara would not parish, and neither would Izuna.

There is no command of silence within this group—he remembers her walking beside him as those that traveled with them held firm pressed lips when she had first become his wife. This time they talk among each other. There is teasing behind him, and there is the smallest of humor being exchanged.

A yawn escapes her lips making her bring her hand to cover her mouth. It's after her mouth has closed that she brings them further only to stop just before her viridian. There is the assumption she does not wish to possibly ruin her handmaid's work upon her makeup. Even with such actions she never hesitates within her steps beside him.

The sky has long since ended it's painted colors of peach, and rose within the sun ascension. The sky holds clouds of white with no threat, and now is the blue they know so well with each day. The afternoon brings a touch of coolness with it, but is far from the brisk morning they had left in.

They enter quietly, and their cloaks are gathered within the entry way. They walk among others of high rank, and those who were present for the last major meeting remain standing within their positions. None have perished within the high rank—only one of his is missing within this moment.

 _Only Hikaku is missing_.

The harshness he had felt only weeks before when conversing with Hikaku's wife no longer washes over him. She had told him not to feel such things, and he would honor both of them by doing as she has asked.

He is all the same silence he always is among those within the room as he takes his place. The spring nymph follows him, but he notes the nod of her head towards the Hyuuga prodigy. He catches the gaze of the eldest daughter who enters shortly, and it all but confirms his original thoughts. She is of long ebony locks that tint in hues of plum, and eyes that adorn all Hyuuga. The kimono she wears is lavender far lighter than that of the plum upon the ethereal woman beside him adorned in her own culture's wear—he realizes even if she had worn a kimono to such meetings she would forever stand out.

Hiashi calls for the meeting to begin. The Hyuuga speak, and the Uchiha do the same. All present cannot ignore the Hyuuga heiress that sits beside her mother, and father. No one speaks out of turn, and none interrupt Hiashi leading his way in to how the talks have gone.

The tension is tangible as he discloses that no agreement has been made. There are noises that signal disappointment, and what can only be described as mockery.

"Is anyone truly surprised?" Obito cuts through the tension as his voice holds laced annoyance.

"I'm sure any can agree that we all assumed this would not be so easy." Izuna's voice is far colder than he expected, "Would you have rather we agreed to _everything_?"

"There was territory issues brought up, and there was questions of what would happen to those who committed treason during the war. Neither side could come to proper agreements." Neji's voice is cautious as it seeks to calm the looks between the Uchiha who disagree.

"He is correct. They sought far more territory than we would give. There was also the issue of how to handle existing debt between sides, and how we felt things should go forward should another dispute come after accepting terms." their leaders voice is foreign with laced disdain.

Sasuke can only digest what is before him. There is an air of change within their leader. He notes the ebony that do not look to any in particular. The tone Madara had carried was not the one that seemed forever mixed in calculation. The tone holds a gruffness to it that he can only recall with distant memories in his childhood. The silence within the room is thick. The fleeting look upon his wife is there as he watches her knuckles turn white upon her lap. She too has felt this change.

"We had hoped to create a union between the Hyuuga, and Uzumaki." the Hyuuga leader's voice holds it's own discomfort as he speaks such things, "Under the condition's they proposed we could not though."

The voices of those around him are lost forever centered upon his leader. There is the smallest of looks towards his other uncle in these moments, and yet there is the feeling there is something they are not being told. The closing of his commanders lids is slow—it's far slower than it should be. He'd question exhaustion but that is not what this man, with power such as his, is known for.

"I don't understand why we do not take down their leader and take victory." the malice that rings throughout Obito's voice sends the room into chaos.

Harsh words coated in venom are thrown, and it is the Hyuuga who seek to regain some form of placidity in the room of Uchiha who argue among each other. The spring wife gives the smallest of shifts, and it is here now that he puts his hand upon hers under the table to ease her of any concern she holds. His gaze is fleeting upon her. There is no glance of viridian at him as her eyes follow the screams within the room. She is composed and she sits with a power she had not had long ago among those present. The reassuring squeeze she gives him is all he needs to know that she is not fearful of the arguments that have lead to two of the members raising from their seats.

"You have _yet_ to say a single word—Come now!" the hiss from Obito's lips does nothing to change the lackadaisical look upon his features. He only continues to stare upon his leader so quiet among those arguing.

He hears the subtle exhale she gives. They do not need looks upon each other in this moment. She has already told him that she supports him, "None of this changes any—"

"It's _so_ like you to throw the decisions to everyone else! Pathetic!" Obito is quick to cut him off unsatisfied with his stance.

He knows his wife is not prepared for what he does next. He knows that she will stop him if he crosses too far— _she has already done so twice_. She will be his voice of reason when all he feels is lividity.

He will not stand idly among his peers to such tones taken with him.  
 _After all, he did bring war with him._

The _quake_ of the mats is beneath them all.  
The _baring_ of teeth comes with the males lack of oxygen.  
There is a _squeeze_ upon the windpipe of the Uchiha below him.  
There is the _deep rich red_ that have taken the place of endless ebony.

This display is a warning for any who dared to question his position. It was meant for all to see—it was entirely intended. He would make the male who's windpipe he gripped recognize here and now who was above who. There would be no tolerance for the venom that had spilled out. His knee digs within the males chest as an even greater warning—to bare such teeth with vicious intent would only cause the giver far greater harm. The Uchiha below him should consider himself lucky that he has not drawn his sword.

Hiashi is the first to give forth words of reprimand. The Uchiha do not speak at this display. This serves to make him press within the windpipe even harder at the Hyuuga's tone.

This was between clan members.  
 _There is only three who would stop him_.

This Uchiha may be of higher rank, but he is not an heir. He is not his uncle who sat within second command. He is not their leader that still has yet to speak. There is a place for this Uchiha just as there was for the others who sat within this room. For him to have forgotten his place would only lead to his own misfortune. He would know his place here and now—by lethal force if necessary.

" _None of this changes anything_. We will act as we have until we can reach peace—do not speak as if this is something so _trivial_." it's as he rasps out the last word that he digs his knee further into the male finally forcing the teeth that show such fury to disappear within pain.

" _Sasuke-kun_." her voice is calm, and it holds the composure she sat within—she was far more prepared than he had realized.

Deep rich red shift from his intended victim. He does not turn to look to her. He only shifts them to give silent attention to her voice. He does not need to see her face to now that she has held such calm upon her features. It's at her call though that he finally eases the pressure he has continued to apply finally raising from the male who dared to take such words with him. The deep rich red glow among those in the room as they seek her out. The stares made of wide eyes and slightly dipped mouths hold not even fleetingly looks from him. All but two are unprepared for what the red show within their glow. The steps he takes are solid as he sets to sit beside her once more. He will not look upon her with the same set of eyes. She would only receive ebony upon her. The coughs, and shuffle from the male make him all too apparent that he is seeking to attack him back.

"That is enough." finally the voice he knows his leader for has come out, "Hiashi-san do you disagree with what Sasuke-san has said?"

"No."

All within the room seem to finally find air within them. Their intake of oxygen is not loud, but it is felt within the dissipation of violence in the room. He has taken his place beside her as he has intended.

"I can only assume you will prepare another meeting— _hopefully far sooner than our last_."

The meeting is dismissed and with it there seems to be only more relief upon all who attends faces. The maids come as they are meant to bringing food for them to dine upon.

It's later within the night as they dress for bed that the Hyuuga prodigy comes seeking him out. The Hyuuga and his wife converse in pleasantries. His wife gives forth a worn out noise as she seeks to gain his attention, "Come back soon."

He gives forth a nod before leaving her to sleep within the guest room alone. The quiet between him, and Neji is as it is always is. They do not speak within these halls. It is out among the road that they let themselves fall into conversation. At first it is nothing that holds any true meaning. The smirks, and chuckles come within these small topics of no importance. They all are just a place holder.

"I barely caught Sakura-san's performance in Konohagakure." there is the smallest of smirks upon the Hyuuga's mouth as he speaks, "It was stunning. All of it was very different from our own celebrations."

The nod of his head comes as he slips his hands within his sleeves, "It was."

"You seem much more fond of her now." the statement holds the hint of curiosity but does not push for more information as he continues shifting the topic once more, "The peace talks—they were not as peaceful as one might assume."

He tilts his head towards the Hyuuga, "It would seem as such. When I saw them in Konohagakure though it all seemed well."

"Things had been well in pre-meetings, but it was once Izuna-san, and Tobirama-san started going after one another that things fell through quickly." he halts within his steps, "Izuna-san had always been one I could have seen giving into peace even with what reluctance he's shown, but not after what I saw at the meeting. There's an urgency there. There was a greater hate than normal."

The words that fall hold their own sense of urgency. They fall as if to warn him. Thoughts of what had transpired within the room of Uchiha and Hyuuga are all that he can see within his mind.

Madara had held an air far different from the norm—there was always a power held within his presence but never had his leader ever radiated with such disdain. His leader had always been one forever mixed within calculation and yet it had not been present among them—it had been fogged as if something else had captured his attention.

Izuna had not been far off behind his brother. His uncle had been known to keep his cool when it matter most. Yet, there had been no attempt at keeping the lethal words at bay within their meeting this afternoon. Agitation had spilled in every word he spoke—the peace talks had left him bitter.

"This afternoon you showed your place as heir."

"Ah." his lids fall in the same slow manner he knows his leader had given, and with them the loss of ebony come to be replaced with the ever glowing red he had displayed earlier within the evening. There's a look between the two—it's filled with all the same things they had always held between them.

 _Understanding—the bond that came with allies is what it holds_.

There is no reason to continue to prolong what it is the Hyuuga had sought him out for. All that had filled the air between them, and all the conversations that held no fruit other then idle chatter among them had been only to try to ease what hesitation laid within the pale of the eyes he gazes upon. Deep rich red can only follow the male's shift, and the curling of his fingers. There's a tightening of his throat as he seeks to swallow the chilled air of night.

The Hyuuga speaks it within a whisper. He had not missed it—his eyes had easily read that which he had finally let fall.

There's a drop of his stomach, and it is now that it's his turn to give way to wide eyes, and parted lips. That which had been left out of the meeting, that which they would dare not breath to even the highest of rank, that which had brought Izuna urgency within the peace talks, and that which had distracted his leader—it was painstakingly clear, and now painstakingly obvious.

The clarity that comes from what he had seen, and now what was known is necessary. The world he knew was forever changing within these war torn times. They may have lost none within their rank, and yet they were still harmed within this year. They had held loss among their men, and they had lost land and yet, this loss is far graver then what he had known. The urgency that had been within his uncle is warranted, and he, himself, feels it all just the same. Morale could not drop with these words— _they could not allow it to fall in times like these_.

"Who else knows?" his voice is tight within the air as his brows come to pinch together.

"Only Hiashi-sama, Izuna-sama, myself, and now you."

"Keep it that way—to let this out could change everything." his tone is laced in frustration not truly held against the male in front of him.

Their walk back holds a tangible tenseness. They do not speak within the silence that surrounds them, and they only give the smallest of looks before separating to their room. This bond between allies is what solidifies his trust within the Hyuuga. He does not fear him speaking to others.

Fingers curl upon the door preparing himself to slide within the room. He could not wake her with these troubles, and he could not alert others of this new found urgency thick upon his shoulders. The drag of the door is smooth, and soft even as he enters and seeks to close it now tucked within. The spring nymph does not stir, and it's her breathing that seeks to calm him as he watches the slow rise and fall of her chest. His steps take him to her without thought. Kneeling above her he allows himself to continue this moment of calm she's providing, whilst nestled in the world of sleep. Those long pale rose-colored strands are what his fingers seek out and take with care.

The deep breath he inhales is one that provides him with an even deeper comfort. Her scent fills his nose, and only furthers these unconscious actions as he brings her hair to press against his lips.

 _Madara is going blind_.

He's accepted that which he has been told.  
There was no other option but to move forward.

She willingly sought to place all of her hopes upon him.  
He could not allow himself to be beckoned still with such hope right before him.

* * *

Parted lips and warm eyes are what decorate her as she walks him to the gate. She is not set to take her own leave for several more days. There is an edge to him that had not existed before the meeting and he has chosen not to let what fills his mind spill between them. He has chosen to not give way to such things. He has chosen to maintain it all on his own.

There is the desire to simply ask him, and yet she will not give way to such questions. He is a man who does not speak when asked. He is a man who gives when he feels he is ready. She will be patient and she will wait for him.

 _She will always wait for him._

He has yet to leave her side—those he accompanies this time are familiar. This is the group holding the gentle giant, the woman of vibrant colored locks, and male loud and full of tease. It's hesitant and fleeting when she feels his eyes fall upon her. There's unusually soft steps, and the brush of his hand against her own.

"Come home safely." she's soft within her words choosing them to be for him, and her alone even within the presence of others.

He's the whisper within the wind when he is gone from her viridian. She cannot help but look toward the days to come, and the hope they'll sweep her away from her longing of him. There is warmth upon her fingers in which their fingers had brushed and it's that same hand that holds within her cheongsam as if to tuck it within her heart.

The smile upon her lips is growing as she's making her way through the market. She had taken a chance. She had taken a moment to spill what she had come to accept within the time they had been together. She had told him that she had loved him with all of her heart. There is no regret in this decision.

His reaction had been boyish in nature with his pull upon his fringe. That moment, and that look. That drop of his mouth, and those eyes of his. They are but another memory she wishes to look back on in the years to come. They are ones she hopes to see more. She hopes it will be a moment in time she can forever look upon. It was enchanting, and she can only question if this was a look into the boy she had never met She had met him as a man. She had met him within the walls he had built after losing that which he held close to heart. She had missed the boy within the stories. She had missed the innocent Sasuke who smiled, and clung to his older sibling. She had missed the ornery Sasuke that lingered only in the memories of those who had been around to see it.

Her steps are filled with thought entering within their home. Longing had already set within her heart, but there was much to look over, and much to read. There is interest in digging further within this family of hers after sitting among those present at the meeting. There is interest in knowing all that she can.

 _Knowledge was a power unlike that of any other._

It was not _loud_. It was not _boisterous_. It did not _challenge_. It did not _manipulate_.

She would hold such _power_. Hope at being of even more to those she healed had been what brought her among the books within the library. Memories of the last time she had let her fingers dance upon the spines are worn but still lingering. She had been so lost within the tug-o-war that was her heart. She did not understand him, and he had no interest in settling the myth verses reality that battled within her.

The smile that breaks upon her lips is filled with humor at this memory. The walls around his heart were high, and unclimable. They had been made with years of hurt, and years of loss. They still resided and they still stood and yet he was slowly but surely allowing her to come within them. She had known who he had been. He had been a man who's name was whispered among those that followed the Senju. She had gazed upon him with so much disdain and so much distrust for all the stories that filled the air with a single mention of his name.

 _That was who he had been for many—but that was not who he was._

Fingers curl upon the spine of a book at random. There is no true place to start within this room, and it is only by jumping in that she would find a path.

She sought to get in further within those walls. She sought to know him on a level far _deeper_ than that which was present. She is still miles from the goal—their marriage was becoming solid with each passing day, but still held the great divide. Her confession does not mean he, too, is where she stands. There is still so much to learn, and so much understanding to grasp. The ebony that linger upon her are a step, and the gentleness that he seems to hold with her is there within the briefest of touches.

 _She sought to learn the secrets of his heart._

 _She sought to cross the great divide._

She had told him that she was putting her support in him. She would become his support in return. The deep rich red are what she seeks to learn more of—to support him would be to support that which struck fear upon his enemies with a single glance.

Viridian can only fall within the pages completely unbound by time. They fall upon the page in hope to digest and retain that which she can only hope to understand. The time she spends within these four walls is unknown.

Optic nerves. Emotional distress.  
Precious. Reflection of the heart.

There is the fall within her heart at the words printed before her. These eyes that so many saw and feared were but a reflection of their loss. The deep rich red that came with the chaos were but open windows for those that looked within them to see that which the wielder had felt.

There is the desire to gaze within the deep rich red held by her husband. There is the wish to see what his heart reflected within their deep rich red. Did those eyes rich within such color hold all the pain she wished to take upon herself? Did they hold all the feelings that he sought to keep locked away behind the walls that towered?

He had begun to lower them, and yet there was no ignoring that which was before her.

Those eyes of his so endless in their ebony held the ability to glow within red and see the color of her chakra—had he seen it already? What color did it hold? They see the change in muscles, and they saw the movements in ways that she would never be able to. They saw what their enemy would use, and they would take it as their own perfecting it with ease. They were grand with their hold upon their opponent, and they could seize control.

The sound of the door sliding open has not been caught and it's only by the call of her handmaid that she finally slides her viridian from the pages. There is concern etched upon the maid's face as her voice calls again, and there is guilt in making her worry. Fingers close the book and lay it atop the pile that has compiled upon the high table. The mention of dinner has her wondering how much time she had lost within her reading. It's following after the handmaid with fleeting viridian that she realizes the sky paints itself in all the colors that come with sunset. It paints their home in purples, and reds so warm within the suns attempt to rest. Each step she takes is one step closer to that which gave her husband retreat from the battlefield, and the stress of war.

Viridian fall upon the cherry tree thriving with buds against the cool dismissal of winter that hopes to maintain its hold. He's gone with the wind, and he's out within the war torn world. He's not within her reach but she feels the calm that this simple tree provides him.

 _Every step she takes, and every move she makes is a chance she takes_.

"Sakura-sama?"

There is no stopping the smile that comes over her. It holds all the tenderness and all the warmth she feels within her longing, "Mikoto-san—she was warmhearted wasn't she?"

The maid can only look to her with the smallest part of her mouth and eyebrows raised at the question, "She was."

The spring wife can only widen her smile as her eyes fall from the maid seeking out this tree so adored, and so loved, "What is the meaning behind her name?"

"Precious, Sakura-sama." there is longing within the uttered words that fall from the maid as if just speaking of this woman brought a bittersweet joy.

Emotional distress over one's precious loved ones is what gave birth to eyes rich in red. Precious loved ones were what the wielder held within the walls around their heart. A precious woman had given birth to eyes rich in red. There is no doubt without hearing a single tale, and without a single mention that her husband's mother was her namesake.

 _She had given birth to something just as precious as she was_.

This woman she would never come to know had seen the boy that she can only imagine. This woman had loved and nurtured her son with all that she could before being ripped from him. This woman had lost the chance to stand beside him, and now could only gaze upon him where he could not see her.

There is no missing the feel of her presence in front of this cherry tree that fights the dying winter. There is no missing her bathed within the sunset that glows upon this garden. Never had this woman stopped her love. Never had this woman let go of his hand. There is hope, and there is a prayer that she will continue to love her son within the land of the dead.

Fingers trail up as if to hold the sun within her hand. This small window of time has been kind in leaving her once more unbound by its usual hold. She would never come to know of her. She would never hear this woman's voice—but she could feel her in these moments.

Viridian cannot stop themselves from glassing over. This woman continues to work so tirelessly. The pain this woman must feel in watching the children she had brought into this world fight is a pain she does not know. No one so precious should ever have to watch something like that. She can only try in this moment to understand her—she can only hope to one day take some of that pain from her. She can only hope to assist her in taking some of that weight she's carried for so long from her shoulders.

The wind that blows through brings back the slow tick of time within it's rightful place as night comes closer. The red that had painted across the sky is dimming, and it's falling within it's battle against the purple. There is a sense that even with her mother-in-law's presence no longer felt that she's never far.

 _Mikoto Uchiha was unbelievably precious_.

* * *

 **Author Note:**

Yooo. Sorry this got put on the back burner while I was moving. There were complications here and there, but for the most part I'm settled into my new home. If you're ever wondering what the fuck I'm doing or why I'm dragging ass there is a 90% chance I've said something about it on tumblr. So always be sure to check there if you want more active information on what's going on with the next chapter, etc. That being said I absolutely hate this chapter (outside of the SakuMiko stuff). It starts moving things so it is more of a filler/insert info chapter and that annoys me. I feel like anytime I gotta do these meetings they are stiff. It takes a lot out of me to not just cringe and do a select all delete. That's me personally tho. I had issues with the chapter that holds the first meeting (pretty sure it's Chapter 2 - The Uchiha) just the same #shrugs

Since I was an ass and am waaaay behind. I'll spoil you all with a little info since I've been asked about this a few times.

All ya'll wanting that Lemon. . . **It's in Chapter 17**. I finally found the place it needed to be in, and can officially say I removed it from my questioned content file and have slid it into place. I'm not gonna say any more than that tho. So there's something to at least look forward to in the future.

Side note. Where's my biiiiitch, ash, at? Hoe. You aint wrote me in like a month. How am I supposed to lose my shit properly if you aint in them DMs, or Reviews? Coooome back to me, my loooove.

Them reviews by my guest dudes.

 **Anonym** \- Thanks so much for your continued support, and for praising this writer shitlord. It's legit sweet of you, and mucho appreciated.  
 **Guest, who request a kiss scene** \- I wanna say there's been at least two, but at least with the above you know there's one in chapter 17.  
 **Navika** \- Dude. I'm an absolute snack. What can I say? #shot lolimsorryi'vealwayswantedtosaythatshit. Okay okay. All jokes aside. Sasuke's probably my favorite one to write and at the same time the one I'm scared to write the most. I want to desperately keep him in character, and avoid the established fanfiction personality people typically write for him while staying close to canon. It's seriously totes awesome to hear you think I'm managing to do so. Dude I legit just type how I talk once I hit the author note section. I think I get so pent up from editing and staying in story mode that once I can break free of that I hit the ground running and I don't look back because BOOM BABY HERE I BE. lolimsosorryimthisway #coughbacktolegitshittho I do appreciate and am glad to know that I could reach out via this method and there would absolutely be a hand for me to hold after I got it all out. You're an absolute doll, and dude don't let anyone stop you on this journey of yours. You deserve the best of things.  
 **777** \- I wish I could totes claim I planned that, but I didn't it just kinda like happened OTL Aww guuuurl (you a girl right? if not my bad bro) I love you too djsakdjsalk Yeah I've decided to go back and write a Sasuke version at some point in the future once I'm a lot more settled and don't have a list of things piling up. I'm glad you digged the last chapter, and as always my dude, thanks for reviewing.  
 **Guest, who mentioned the sasuke version** \- Absolutely dude. I'd be happy to whip that up sometime soon. I'm honestly pretty impressed with the amount of you interested in it, and so I look forward to going back and getting that written.  
 **Bleach Power** \- Oh dude thank you. I appreciate it, and hope I can continue to get that kind of feedback from you.  
 **Guest, who didn't think it was too cheesy** \- That's bomb. I'm always worried about my level of ridiculous cheese OTL haha Thanks for the review dude.  
Guest, who liked the extra dialogue - Oh god yes none of the marshmallow fluff containers, my dude. There is such a thing as too much fluff and I can't be giving ya'll diabetes. That's not very nice. LOL I'm glad to hear you personally liked that chapter and the route I went with it.  
Guest, who felt last chapter was best chapter - Mad appreciate it dude. I'm glad you liked the chapter. It means a lot. As I'm sure you read above Chapter 17 officially has the first lemon of this story. I gooootchu.  
Guest, who liked that Maddy showed Saku some Pride - Happy to hear I hit a lot of things you enjoyed, my dude. YOURENOTWRONG. WEALLDESERVESOMEOFTHESAUCEINOURLIVES. I hope you've been safe as well, my dude! Thanks for reading.  
 **Guest, who said it was beautiful x 2** \- Thanks for reading and reviewing, my dude.  
 **Guest, who told me to keep writing** \- I definitely plan to! Thank you so much.  
 **Guest, who felt I gave SS a good story** \- Oh dude, thank you so much. I love these babies. I want them to have all the happiness in the world even if it's gotta suck before it gets to that. I appreciate the read and review and all of those compliments. Seriously makes my day and gives me the feels dskajdlksaj  
 **Guest, who said they loved me** \- I love you too, my dude djslakjdskaldsa  
 **The Daily Routine** \- #slidesonsunglasses I have provided the goods my dude (Chapter 17th if you missed it within the great wall of text)  
 **Guest, needing SS babies** \- I may have some plans for that kek  
 **Guest, who wants Sauce to put a bby in Saku** \- DUDEIMHOWLING. LOL ThAT EMOJITOO.

Thank you to everyone who continues to read, and review my work. It means a lot. Ya'll the real MVPs lets be honest.


	14. The Days

x.x.x

 **Chapter 14**  
The Days

* * *

Days turned into weeks.

There's only the briefest of moments to recognize his time away from her. He has taken back territory, and he has come to the aid of those who needed it most within their clan. They are forever moving forward. They are there to help swing the the tides of battle, and help those exhausted and wounded. Any wounds gained in their efforts are easily handled with the aid of the vibrant redhead within his group.

He feels the pressure upon his shoulders with every altercation.

He has to make sure he avoids harm.

The road traveled is far from home, and he can only allow fleeting thoughts upon her in these moments as they head for the next battle. He only dares to look back for a few seconds knowing his focus is needed on those seeking relief.

Their anniversary had come and gone. He had been deep within the throes of battle ripping his blade through those that desired to slaughter his clansmen in the name of war. It was only after the fighting had died down, and only after he had received treatment that he had realized it had even come.

There would be time for that. He would make time for it.

He would make it up to her when he returned to her side—he does not know _how_ but he can only hope there will be an answer once she is within his grasp.

The sky that shows forth the stars is all that lights the earth as they run to their next destination.

The idle chatter of the loudest member is only overpowered by the yells of their female teammate. Feelings of irritation cannot be found as he drowns them out, and there is no desire to break up their bickering. It's the last thing he's concerned with. There's so many other _—so many_ _more pressing_ —matters that have his attention.

The smell of blood is thick within his nose and impossible to miss. It's a mixture of his, and a mixture of those who dared to challenge him. The blade that had come across his arm, and the hand that had dug into his flesh—they leave another scar having been mended by the makeshift medic on their team.

It's not the cleanest job, but it'll do. It's just another mark upon him to add to the list.

Legs burn within their overuse, and yet it does not make him allow the breaks requested by his team. He only sought to continue forward—he only sought to do whatever necessary to bring victory to his clan.

Sleep had always been far from his mind. It's a secondary thought. He is not plagued with the haunting thoughts of slayed medics. He is not harmed inside that unconscious realm that sought to render him defenseless. There is only endless black within his dreams. It doesn't lessen his exhaustion but it's a welcomed change of pace, and one he finds himself silently thankful for.

The flutter of his lids comes with the sound of the earth shaking below him. How long had he slept, and when had the battle found its way to them? He's groggy and he's soaked within the remnants of sleep. The call of his name is the last thing from his mind as he scrapes his head against the earth rolling back and onto his feet. He's barely got enough time to step back before the jutsu coming for him has hit the earth with the same force that had awoken him. These movements he's done to remove himself from this danger has dislocated his thumb—it _aches_ and it _throbs_ but it is just one more thing pushed aside and ignored.

The sword that comes through the air slices the smallest of ebony strands as it soars through the air. Suigetsu never hesitates seeking to strike back unwilling to let his leader have this round. The smell of copper comes and then the dying of clothes soaked in blood. Another scream of his name and his ebony have vanished. Deep rich red are glowing as he's moving forward fingers grabbing the face of the next shinobi's audacious attack.

 _He is not kind_.  
 _He is ruthless_.

Electric lights from his fingers and the deafening shout that fills the air is only silenced by the blood that chokes and spills from the Senju's mouth. Little care is shown to the body allowing it to drop as Jugo rushes forward decorated with manic wide eyes, and widening lips. They hold no fear even when woken with such tactics. Karin's not far behind calculating and calling out the number of those that surround them— _this is why he put this team together_.

His team has defeated and killed far more than this. Every one of them has their use and every one of them performed their roll with ease.

They did not _question_.  
They simply _reacted_.

The thrust of his blade lodges itself underneath the final shinobi's jaw. A sharp tug is all he has to give to have it split through the child's face ending this small surprise attack upon them. There is no missing the fact that he has slain a child with equally as little care as the older male he had dropped to the ground right before.

He had no care for age— _they were all the same_.

Deep rich red turn and there is a shared look between them all. They need to moving forward—they were always moving forward. It does not matter how far the road goes. They will continue, and they will conquer. They will fight, and they will show no mercy for those in their way. Humor that falls from lips that hide the sharpest of teeth. His remark is not missed—Sasuke sees no reason to entertain him.

Their destroyed camp isn't a concern. No. It's being found sleeping at all that poses the concern. If there were enemies seeking to bury them within the earth while they slept then there was more to come.

His legs are rested but they still hold that ache. They're still pulsing, and their still twitching. Karin's voice is what breaks through muddled thoughts of what comes next. Brows pinch in hearing what she has to say, and how many lay just up ahead. His brothers-in-arms are up ahead, and yet the number of Senju far out numbers them. Lips press firm and the swallow that follows tightens his jaw. There's less urgency and more caution as they go forward.

They cannot change the tide of battle here, but that does not mean they would not survey the damage received. They were too late, and there is no missing the Uchiha who have surrendered. Their hands are held behind their heads showing they have accepted defeat, and it only serves to make his fists curl and shake. His throat tightens, and then there is the turn of red to flicker towards his own— _they're not the eyes of an Uchiha_.

This is a man who needs no introduction.  
Who didn't know this man?

 _Tobirama Senju was_ _well known for his belief that_ _the Uchiha needed wiped from this earth_ _._

The tilt of that mouth can be seen even from this distance as if challenging him to come forward and resume the barely held battle. The male with strands of white is proud in his stance as his arms cross upon his chest adorned in the colors of Senju.

The control needed to not take his bait is great, and the control needed to turn and return from the direction they've come is even greater. Accepting this loss is something he has not come to terms with—he's stubborn when it comes to accepting a loss. The chase would soon begin and their speed quickens. They cannot take on this army even with the four of them. They are powerful, and they together could bring down a camp— _an army is an entirely different story_.

Retreat is something that only seeks to make his body flush with indignation.

Tobirama would not send all of them after them—he would only send what he thought was necessary. The terror that comes with the idea of being struck down in such a shameful manner— _in retreating_ —is what makes him ignore the branch that cuts across his cheek. He could not let his pride get in the way of logic. He could not let himself take the chance. He couldn't allow himself to become injured or dead from foolish pride.

 _She was waiting.  
She was always waiting._

She is the _flower_ that bloomed in this time of _difficulty_.  
She is what _lights_ the way home, and she is what will _mend_ him from this shameful act.

The hiss that falls from his mouth brings their eyes to him. They know he'll produce an order. They don't need to ask. The humor once within the air is trapped within Suigetsu's throat. The manic decoration has washed itself from Jugo's features. Karin's calls have quelled within whispers of how many linger behind them.

The could stop their retreat, and take care of the five the seek to close in upon them. They could crush their skulls, and rip their hearts from their chest. They could stain the earth with their blood, and bathe within victory.

They won't—because others would be right behind them. There is more than five. It does not take a tracker to know they are being baited, and asked to stay and fight.

 _To do so meant death_.  
 _His people needed him alive_.  
 _She needed him to come home to her._

He would not abandon them in the name of pride, and he would not abandon her even as this pique settles itself deep within.

That welcomed dreamless sleep would disappear with this loss. They would drag him from what little peace he had found, and plunge him deep within his own fears. There is no denying what he cannot stop. The small reprieve is gone and the vivid red that reeked of copper would coat it all.

"Juugo—Send out to see where the closest ally is."

It's the agitation laced within his whisper that has Juugo hesitating, and then the stop of his feet upon the next branch. No, he would not fight but he would give them distance until they could meet with others. He's quick with his hand seals, and the intake of oxygen within his lungs puffs his chest.

 _He will set the forest ablaze_.

He will burn it down to the ground if he has to. The fire that comes forward is strong and lights up the forest before them. He's not stopping at one though. He intends to release another. The harsher the flame the more devastating the burns. It's at the inhale of the second and the release that _he_ flashes just beyond the hell he's release from his lungs.

The taunt across this Senju's lips, and the widening smirk is just another thing to snap at his resolve. It calls for him wish to lunge within the fiery embrace he's given the forest. He had long since removed the Senju from his mind, and now it's with that look that he's resurfaced.

This man has continued forward and continues to bring his personal feelings to the battlefield. It lingers within the proud look across his features, and the curl of his fingers upon his arms as they come to cross over his chest. Fingers curl into a fist and his ebony widen as urgency to remove such a proud look upon his features digs at what little remaining resolve he can maintain.

The lips of his enemy moves, and it only seeks to light the fire of battle more vividly than even that of his flames.

He would show this man— _no,_ he would show _this child_ —that you did not come to him with such a look. He would tear it from his features, and he would dig his fingers deep within that mouth and remove the tongue that dared to mock him.

 _Coward_.  
He had called him a _coward_.

The grit of his teeth comes and then the fingers of another wrap upon his shoulder. The whip of his head shows the startle that had shaken his heart at someone so close to him. He has lost sight of _everything_ so easily before this Senju that sought to obtain _her_. The lavender that hold him are stern with no sense of humor present.

The tightening of Suigetsu's fingers come, "We've have to go."

He's breathing in deep—an attempt to settle the irritation resting upon his chest. The lavender keep his steady, and then the silent agreement mixed with reluctance follows. There is no need to tell him twice, and they are moving again no longer allowing the flames to glow upon their skin that burn the trees down with no remorse.

They're heading south east, and heading for safety. Shisui's father would assist, and provide them with enough men to hold their ground for any who would make their way through the flames. It's only a moment—seconds really—before he's giving commands.

"We'll use a kill and run tactic." his voice is gruff—just another sign of his reluctance and spite for their retreat, "Create distance, strike, and then keep moving _—one at a time_."

It's a basic tactic but one that works. Speed was not equal among men, and never would be. Someone's always faster— _someone is always bound to separate themselves from the herd_.

Strike them down, and then continue to make the herd separate in an effort to catch up. No sooner after the words have left him do lavender light with amusement as he shifts to turn back to who dared to catch up so quick. He's lifting the sword as long and large as himself sliding it over the young child's head who had pushed through the flames and allowed the fire to play across him. He's had to put little effort in securing it around his throat before the yank of his hand comes effectively bring wide eyes and silencing any possible sound that could come. There's no remorse, and there's no time taken to see where the severed head falls as he sets to resume his steps at their leader's side.

Rotation, and succession come with this tactic. Not once does the Senju who sought his spring wife make an appearance. There's the sinking of his heart within his stomach in realizing that they had already battled. He had allowed this man to quake his being, and fallen in a battle of mental wills.

 _Coward_ he had called them— _no, he had come to taunt him, and him alone_.

He had allowed himself to almost take the bait. He would have taken the bait. He would have pushed forward within animalistic rage. He would have put them in a dangerous state, and jeopardized all their efforts in the name of pride.

He had mocked, and he had held judgment against this man who sought his wife. He had saw him as a child for bringing his personal feelings onto the battlefield, and yet he had _almost_ done the same. He had almost lunged forward, and he had almost cross the fire he had created to give them time. It's the grind of his teeth and the silence that comes as Karin tells them no others seek to follow. They did not seek to fall upon the forest floor lifeless and without a soul.

The bickering of this team that had become common place with this team never comes. They do not fall into place as the restrained vexation washes off him in waves. He's trapped within his mind, and trapped within his loss. They have suffered a loss greater than just those who gave up willingly to the Senju.

 _They have defected_ —they have abandoned their brothers, their sisters, their wives, and their children.

They have tossed away their family thinking this to be the answer. They are tired of war, and they are tired of fighting. They are tired of Madara's rule, and they seek out a peace brought by Senju hands.

 _They are willing to let_ _the Senju dictate what comes next_.

The power within his stride is set to relieve him from this submerge of bitter feelings. He needs to be clear of mind, and he needs to move forward passed these losses. His muscles resume their ache although dull, and almost numb. This would be just one of the many battles he's lost. It would add to the list.

The battle may have been lost— _but this war was far from over_.

Deep within the setting sun they have made their way in. They have come upon Kagami's camp. The distance had been further than expected, but they had made it. They are not expected, but they are welcomed. Ebony cannot stop themselves from running across those injured and wrapped within bandages. The exhaustion deep and set within their faces is unmissable. He is sure it's upon his own features as well. The throbbing of his thumb is felt but still the furthest thing from his mind as he looks upon this camp. Kagami's voice is what comes to break his eyes from these men who show relief with his presence.

"I thought it might be you making your way here." he's light in tone running his fingers within his dulling ebony.

It's a shared look of ebony to ebony, and then the firm press of lips. The steps that follow are to give them privacy. They cannot afford to plunge their morale deeper with news of defection. This is all too familiar within the recent months, and only now does it seek to be problem. The number of those defecting is high and the number just continues to increase.

Where was their _pride_?  
Where was their _hope_ for a better life with their loved ones?  
With their _friends_?

Had war truly _weakened_ their pride?  
Had war truly become _too much_? Had these endless years of battle finally taken their _toll_?

"There's nothing we can do but look to the next battle." the breath deep with discontent follows his words, "I'll report the loss to Madara-sama."

His face decorates in mild discomfort at the older Uchiha's words as he comes to stand beside the table in the tent, "Where would you have us move to in the morning?"

The male fingers linger over the map before tapping it, "Head north. There's a medic camp—your wife is there. I suggest getting decent first aid. You're as good as ever at holding your own for long periods of time, but there's no missing the exhaustion."

"We're in too deep for rest. We need to keep pushing forward."

"I would never tell you how to run your missions, but I'm also not willing to sit by and watch you, of all people, possibly fall thanks to lack of care. Karin-san is decent, there's no doubt, but you need _proper_ healing, and rest. I couldn't face your father if I turned a blind eye—No. I won't face your father like that."

Lids flutter closed and there's no strength left to fight the feeling of fatigue that's within every muscle, and every bone. This man would not take his stubbornness, and it's with the older Uchiha's voice that his lids are lifting to take him in once more, "How many have you taken down?"

"We have aided the capture of two territories, and destroyed three of their camps." his voice is even and yet he too can hear just how worn out his tone is.

"Madara-sama will be please." his features paint itself with the smallest of smiles before fingers come to rub the back of his neck.

"I'll have them get you situated. . .They're relieved that it was you who came upon us while we await our own medics. Going off everyone's reaction seeing you helped with their morale."

Silently he stands there taking in the older Uchiha's words. It's a subtle look his way—this man has been at war for longer than he's been alive. They're both experienced but he's definitely wiser. This man fought beside his father and this man has done everything he can for his clan. He's loyal, and he cares for his men. There's a bitterness lingering in those last few words.

That bitterness isn't directed to Sasuke. It's a bitterness he holds for himself— _he wants to be the one providing hope when his men have almost run out_.

Lungs fill with air before he gives a nod of his head signaling his departure from the tent. The sky once colored by the setting sun now holds the depths of night. Wood burns giving those in the camp heat and light as they go another day away from home.

His team has resumed their flow within the camp, but there's no missing the bruising, and the injuries they've sustained. These people sought to assist him, and sought to assist his clan. They did not agree with the Senju's beliefs.

The world had been cruel to each of them throughout their lives, and they had persevered and made their way to this moment in time. They each held their own reasons. They each held their own ambition. They each walked beside him willingly with no thought to step from his side.

 _Peace brought by love can come in many forms_.

The wind that blows through is strong, and the petals carried with it seem so out of place. They are light in color but unmistakable. Ebony look out to find the source, and it's now he finds the tree that's petals have fallen. This tree is old and it's branches hang low. It's trunk is twisted and turned, and it's bloom had started to fall to the earth below well before now.

Subconsciously his jaw shifts and his mouth parts. This feeling isn't one he's sure of—he had felt it strongly as a child but it's been such a long time since then. Slow and fluid his hand raises up to capture these petals that fall far too quickly to the ground. His skin is stained with the blood of his enemies—like an old bitter wine—and the sharp pain that comes with the movement of his thumb finally gains his attention.

The swelling is large upon the pad of his hand, and the twist of skin is almost enough to make him question if he's actually broken it. The cool wind washes over him showing how heated his flesh had become.

One petal slides upon his hand sending an almost ticklish sensation through him. What should be such an easy action is strained as he tries to close his fingers upon this lone petal. The pain is sharp, and spikes up his arm as if a warning. Quelling the pain comes with a deep inhale as his heavy lids fall. Even breathing picks up the subtle floral scent in the air— it's easily overpowered by the copper that lingers upon them all.

 _This was longing_.

It's stronger than before _—it's as if he was that child waiting on his father's return_.

He longed for his spring nymph of a wife who was tucked away within a medic camp north of them. Sasuke can only wonder if this is what she felt when she awaited his return, and if this is what moved her to support him.

Sakura had found her way back to even after all of his cruelty had broken her down. She had asked for all of him in return.

He would give her all of him _—he doesn't know how or when, but he will_.  
 _One day_.

She was an otherworldly being bewitching him with the tree he adored. There's comfort in the fact that she'll take care of him, and that she'll look upon him with those glowing viridian soon enough.

Thunder cracks within the air bringing his ebony to fall upon this tree so out of place among the green that had already come to life. Rain intends to fall from the sky and yet it does not move him from this spot. Fingers come around his hand and vibrant red are what hold his.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she's scolding and her brows are pinched with concern—they're not pale pink, and her voice is not as high.

Her actions make the petal fall from his palm as she seeks to relocate his thumb. It's a quick fluid motion, and another sharp pain that shoots throughout his arm and the twist of his skin is gone. The swelling remains.

The terror of his dreams will be there tonight, but the petals that seek to vanquish the coppery scent of blood upon them will linger, and provide comfort in the morning. They've suffered loss, but he will bring more success. They've been defeated, and he had been cowardly for not standing his ground in fear of death.

He will fight again tomorrow, and he will fight again within the days that come. He will bring pride back to those tired and exhausted in this camp— _and to those back home_.

He will give them _hope_. He will never stop moving _forward_.

* * *

The earth below is no longer damp and soaked from the thunderstorm that had struck the sky just days before. It's rain had finally ceased as if it no longer had tears to shed. Fingers seek to shield her eyes as she dares a glance at the sun that has risen to bring warmth to everything the spring showers have touched. It's rays are tender, and its heat is coaxing.

That fresh earth scent clings to all it touches. The wind that comes through is not harsh nor is it one laced in winter chill. It's soothing against the skin seeking to immerse her within the trees—it's a reminder that there were still surfaces untouched, and unplagued with war. Floral beds lay in wait for their turn to bloom, but have taken their places. Those that pull through have already come to life— _they've come to remind them all of warmer days ahead_.

Her tongue flicks across her top lip and then the sound of the grass crushed beneath her shoes enters her ears. She won't leave the camps side for long. She needs a moment of peace, and a moment not filled with the injured. She needs a moment to bask within the spring. Deeper down these wooded plains she heads always keeping track of where she has been and where she needs to go.

Rising above the foliage she can't help but count the petals. Eight to twelve petals a piece with no leaves in sight. White like the snow but so different from the snowdrops that hang low in the north.

 _It's poisonous_ —like the petulant flower that had held so much control over her heart when she had sought to let another be her husband's anchor to the world.

The woven basket touches the ground soon to be much heavier. The muddy cloak of cream brushes against her skin as she bends and seeks to get to work on uprooting this desired plant.

She could not trust another to grab her what she has sought. A skin irritant to the unknown, and the red that flowed through its stem, but another reason to give care. The sickness that flowed through her camp had begun. This was but another thing she sought to keep herself free from. Every part of her being is needed. She could not allow sickness to keep her from aiding them all.

Digging deep and giving care is _easy_. She's been _trained_ for this.

 _Others had been trained for war_.  
She had been trained to _keep them all going_.  
 _To keep them all fighting_.

It's cruel irony when she allows her mind to wander.

She's diligent and completely focused. The brush of her wrist upon her forehead comes wiping the pale rose-colored strands from her sight as she continues to take what she thinks necessary. Every part of this plant is needed to ease the sick's throats, fever, and aches.

Her gloves have become stained, but that is the least of her worries. Devising how she'll use it is all she can think of until the shadow of another comes over her. Viridian widen and then the slow turn of her head comes to follow. Her voice is caught within her throat.

His figure is _looming_ , and his presence is _lethal_.

 _He's not here to hurt her_ —but he's the _last one_ she expected to check upon her.

"Sasuke-kun?" she's unsure if she's spoken loud enough, but the tilt of his head as he looks upon her makes it clear he's heard her. He's coming beside her and there's no missing his eyes set with exhaustion, and the blood that's clung to him. Viridian glow in seeing his thumb wrapped tightly and held in place. Every stain upon his skin is unmissed-it's dried and no longer that deep rich red. Sasuke's eyes have chosen to focus on what she's uprooting for the wooded soil.

How many weeks had it been since she had wished to see him?  
 _Even covered in blood she'll take him like this_.

All of this is enough as long as his chest continues to move, and that heart continues to beat to a rhythm only it knows as normal. Unthinking she's reaching out to take his hand and then it's just before she touches she freezes. She'll dye his skin with the red that thrives within the bloodroot—she'll irritate the skin with it's oil upon her gloves.

Her hand recedes and fingers work to tug the gloves from her hands, "Don't touch it. It's poisonous when handled incorrectly." she's explaining as he holds his eyes to her.

A hum low and showing understanding comes, and then they're looking and holding an eye contact that only they know. They're making no movement to touch or brush. They're simply taking in the others presence.

Enchantment seems to dance within her viridian before she's pushing up from her knees to stand. Fingers dance upon the baskets handle, but it's grip never comes as he takes it with ease using the hand that had been harmed nonetheless. Thoughts are wandering to treatment and ease of pain and stiffness. It's obvious there has been previous treatment, but she seeks to make sure there is nothing that remains.

This is why she had been _given_ to him. This is what she is _meant_ to do.  
 _She would make sure she provided more than just that in her support_.

Silence sits comfortably between them as she takes him within her designated medical tent. Slender fingers dip within the bowl of water meant for cleansing, and she's calling for another with a whisper. Her fingers are delicate with each turn of the bandage that hugs his skin, and then there's the swelling that greets her. His features never change even with the tightening of his jaw as she seeks to see it's ability to move.

His pale skin has turned bluish. Viridian are calculating the possible time in which previous treatment has occurred and almost as if dazed her voice whisper a single question, "How many days?"

His only response is but a deep inhale, and a tilt of his head as he looks from her.

He looks as if he's _filled with shame_.  
He looks as if he has done something _worthy of guilt_.  
He looks as if he has _done her wrong_.

A swallow follows and that's all she needs to know there's lingering discomfort. It's an easily treated injury. There's no need for concern. The rest of him is an entirely different matter. It's hard to disconcert what is his own blood and what is not. There's no missing how warm his skin feels against her fingertips, and the cloth she uses to clean him. Sweat, dirt, and so much blood stains that pale skin of his.

Her hums have made their way into the tent. Bruising is found beneath his clothes. They're light and just another thing she can mark down as nothing to be concerned with. Something holds his attention, and she knows it's not her— _she can only assume it's what his next move will be_.

Her fingers are out before him coaxing and seeking for him to take them. The question she had held still hung in the air. She hadn't been only asking about the injuries.

How many days had he gone _without sleep_?  
How many days had he gone with his _mind clouded_ by what was to come next?  
How many days had he become _restless, and uncertain_?  
How many days had it been since they _stood next to each other_?

It's night within the camp and it's unlike any time before as he lays beside her inside of the tent as if they are inside the walls of their home. This is something she had never been given before. They had never truly crossed paths outside their home in the midst of the war torn lands. They had never lingered, and they had never stood beside each other inside a camp.

His blade swung through the air piercing the flesh far from where they held her.  
Her fingers glowed to signal the way to health, and home in protected camps.

The sleep he falls into is dark and dragging him beneath the earth. It's etched across his face, and the dip of his brows. He's twisting those fingers tight within the sheet that covers them, and those ebony strands stick to his forehead as the sweat rolls down his skin. Whatever had gripped him within their days apart he would not utter. He would not make a sound to alert her of his troubles. Those bags that had settle beneath his eyes had set thanks to those unspoken worries. He had been plagued with something before he had left, and it had taken root deep within him. She did not need him to tell her such. Fingers find their way deep within his hair to sooth and persuade those features to ease out of their tormented state. She had not lost as much sleep as he had. She would stay up with him as he fought through his night terrors.

The muffled cry outside her tent has her raising her viridian, and she's gone only moments before it wakes her husband from his already overdue rest—terrors or not he needed whatever rest who could gain. Fingers grasp the fevered child's hand, and she's coaxing him away to provide care, and comfort—this child's fever is high, and the vomit that covers him reeks.

A hand held up high, and the shake of her head is given to those apologizing for the disturbance they think this child has caused her. This child had fought just as her husband had. He had sought comfort in her the moment he had arrived, and comfort is what she would give him as she sought to ease that hoarse throat, and burning fever.

Time ticks by so slow, and yet so fast as she goes through the motions. She's calculating and easing the muffled cries he gives. She wonders if this is what her husband had looked like sick, and fevered as a child. This child's hair sticks upon his face just as her husband's had deep within his tormented sleep— _beyond her comfort_.

Viridian cannot remove themselves from this child as she holds his hand, and it's only the press upon her shoulder that finally breaks the spell.

Shisui.  
 _He had come looking for her_.

He's taking her place, and suggesting rest but a shake of her head makes it clear she has no time to bask within that comfort. Pushing the flap of the tent open brings light to her eyes making her wince. The night had come and gone, and yet she knows this is a sign of something far worse. The sun may feel warm, and its rays may be what coaxes her heart forward, but the coughs and scratchy throats around her make it clear there is worse to come.

The cool morning is upon them as the newly risen sun hangs upon the sky. It's more than enough to get her heading out for more herbs.

If this continued—it would take them _all_.  
 _She could not let that happen_.

The rules of her master are clear. She would be the last to fall. She would not let sickness enter her and take her from the care of those who needed her before being shoved out to perform miracles upon the battlefield.

Footsteps heavy, and a mind muddled with concern has her walking farther and longer than she should have allowed herself. There's an overwhelming sensation that overtakes her as she comes before the floral bed far from the camp. The basket within her hands hits the ground, and all at once she feels the weight she's pushed upon her shoulders lift.

She is not gifted in the language of flowers like that of her blonde best friend who she knows stands upon the battlefield. She is not knowledgeable in the way that, that woman is, and yet there is no denying the comfort she feels as she looks upon this field that bloomed. There's no denying the comfort that comes from having her husband so close. There's no denying the way her heart shakes as he sits there among the lavenders that dare to cast a glow of blue upon his clothes. There's no denying the way he looks surrounded by the dwarf crested iris that have flourished and show victory in the early spring.

Those endless ebony seize control of her. This great divide that stands before them is growing smaller with each passing day even if he does not stand next to her. It grows shorter in distance and it shrinks beneath every step she takes to bring herself to him. The bags under his eyes still linger and those firm pressed lips make it clear he still will not tell her what lingers in his thoughts. She takes her place beside him pulling her knees to her chest as she bathes within the sun settled next to him.

"You weren't there." his voice is soft with lingering exhaustion.

"There's a few cases of influenza in the camp. A child had gotten worse within the night." she's breathing out as she tightens her arms around her knees, "They may hold weapons, and run head first into battle, but they are still children. They long for someone to take care of them."

Silence settles between them. None of what she has said is wrong, none of what she said is something he doesn't know, and none of what she spoke of was something he didn't understand. Her legs shift to lay upon the flowers beneath them. The horizon framed with trees holds her attention and it makes her lost in her thoughts once more.

"My mother would sleep at my bedside when I was sick." his voice is thick between them sprouting desire to see what kind of face he makes when speaking of his mother.

Sasuke had never stopped looking her way— _her words had retrieved his stolen attention_.

He had been looking to find an answer, and to find a response. He was looking to respond to her unlike the times before now when he'd leave her guessing. He was responding as if he knew she had wondered about the woman who she was sure still protected him in death.

"She sounds just as a mother should." her lips are curving within a smile enchanted by such a response from him.

His movements are sluggish by their lack of peace, and it's only moments later does he lean his head upon her own, "She stood proudly beside my father. She was kind, and she would lay my worries to rest—she would. . ."

His words die upon his tongue as if he's not sure how to describe this woman spoken of with a warmth he had buried behind walls for far too long. She wont press him to say more. He's said what he can, and he's making those small attempts that she knows hold hesitance. It's clear the love he has for his mother, and it's almost as if speaking so warmly has brought him peace for this small moment. His breathing is deepening and only moments later does it become clear that he has let himself fall within sleep. There's a fear at moving him as he wakes so easily. Her movements are slow and carry forth all the hesitance she can muster after a sleepless night.

 _Peaceful_.  
He looks peaceful as his chest moves slowly with each breath and a face no longer twisted in torment.

There's guilt in having a moment like this with her husband. She wants more of these moments when he leans upon her to provide comfort where he cannot find it on the battlefield. Many could not dance in a moment of bliss like this. Many could not sit within the flowers that had blossomed upon the earth. Many could not entertain peace as she is being given here and now.

 _Her husband was truly kind_.

Fingers wrap upon the stem of one of the many dwarf crested irises in bloom beside her. They pull with the slightest tug breaking the stem, and it's with a kiss upon the white and orange mixed within the lavender that she presses it upon his lips. The nuzzle of her cheek against those ebony strands is all she could permit herself so far from home.

She would not allow herself the satisfaction of receiving more than this. While so many were hurt, and surrounded by pain she could not allow herself to fall deeper into bliss. She could not allow herself to feel such overwhelming comfort in this time of war. He had sought comfort, and she had been happy to give it to him. He had given her a chance to witness the warmth he held for his mother, and she could not be more thankful.

When they walk away from this field it will put them back within their roles. They will not have time for comfort. They will not have time to bask within the safety of each other. They will only give way to lingering looks, and brushes of fingers.

Three more days come and go from them after this moment. She is wrapped within her duties as a medic just as she knew she would be. He walks among those that have fought, and he is the leader she knows he has always been. There's a care in every movement he makes. There's a care for these children of war that she knows he has held long before she had ever been given the pleasure to witness it.

She will see him off, and then _more days_ will stretch before them. They will be separated as they have grown accustomed too, and they will be without the comfort that, that floral field has allowed. He will be drenched within his own determination, and she will be drowned by her duties as a medic.

There is a horizon at the end of these travels. It's there and it's in the distance.

 _It's only but a simple question of when_.  
 _How many days_?

There's nothing cheap about the smile that's decorated her lips as she sees him off again with his small team. The days have become lost and so has their anniversary.

She will return before him, and he will return behind her seeking peace from the field of battle.

Her fingers reach upon her neck and the clip is easily undone. The necklace hidden under her cheongsam slides from her neck and it's here that she holds it out between them.

Her steps are soft as she comes closer to him, and her fingers boldly grab upon the hilt of his sword. He's watching everything, and then a brush of his fingers come over her own as she wraps the chain securely on the hilt..

Viridian glow watching his finger upon the pendant and it's as their breath mixes between them that she speaks low and just for him, "Happy anniversary."

The way in which he holds the pendent within his hand shows more of that hesitance she expects. Viridian are prepared when his ebony make their way from the petals, and it's with a smile that shines that she speaks once again, "It was my fathers. I hope it will provide you with comfort, and will protect you in the way that my father protected me— _with love_."

The way his eyes widen and the way they shake with her feelings is something she knows she won't be able to witness often. She takes it all in. This look upon his face is one she adds to the list of things she hopes to remember for as long as she walks this earth. It is much like the enchantment she felt when he kneeled beside her just days before this.

It's magical. It's witchcraft. It's a level of sorcery she is sure only he possesses.  
It is just one more thing she loves about him.  
— _because only he holds such a gift_.

As if he has not bewitched her with such a look he steps forward and his forehead comes to touch upon her own. It's a fluid motion without hesitance. His fingers brush across her jaw finding their way into her pale rose. There is a warmth where his fingers are. There is a warmth of a different kind in these actions. She almost dares to thinks that his lips will press upon her own, but all that comes with their lips so close is a whisper of gratitude—just as if he had been awake to witness why she would not dare press her own lips upon his in the field of dwarf crest irises.

 _Thank you—Sakura._

* * *

 **Author Note:**

I'm laaaate cause I'm a lazy asshole (this was supposed to be up last night but all my edits to the chapter didn't save properly so I had to redo them all. BUT THAT DOESN'T MATTER-Jesus Christ this chapter is literally worlds apart from it's original. When I originally wrote this chapter Sasuke and Sakura never see each other. Sasuke arrives too late and Sakura and the medics of the camp were taken by the Senju. This was originally the chapter I dropped the Senju's name that took two people (theclosetpoet7 and myself) to come up with since I was determined to follow Kishi's "two things" method when it came to the Senju. That all of that was removed and I decided I had gone too far into ramping up the war content. I decided easing in would probably be best since a major battle would be following. The Influenza in the camp was also a major thing originally and now just holds a back seat. I originally made Sakura sick with influenza. This was also the chapter where her hair would have been cut and that got scrapped as well. A buddy on tumblr made a valid point that far too often authors immediately run for that iconic moment and utilize it in their fics. I agree and so long haired spring waifu is here to stay cause I'm a sucker for long haired Sakura.

I still have the original version of this chapter in a doc titled 'questionable content' and so I'll probably drop that at some point since the game of thrones absolute brutality was real and I still don't mind showing it even if it didn't make it into the story itself. I'm not sure what I'll be titling the questionable content features here on but once I get that figured out I'll be posting it.

I think it would be pretty cool to see your responses to the stuff that was originally going to happen verses what actually happened. That's me personally though.

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest, who loves the way I write** \- Thank you, my dude! That's super sweet of you to say.  
 **Guest, who wishes I'd update sooner** \- I dropped the ball completely this round due to a case of laziness. I honestly just wanted to rest and became unmotivated to open my libre office. Clerith week just happened about to weeks ago tho and so I got a bit of my motivation back. You're not wrong I'm real clingy when it comes to using certain phrases and for some reason feel like real awkward when I drop their names? I can't really explain it very well. I need to like branch out of that habit or compulsive need to stay in my safe space but only time I think is gonna help me with that.  
 **Guest2Lazy2Login** \- I swear I will deliver you the goods my dude. It will happen. I did not rewrite that shit three times to not bring the good stuff. The usual update timeline for me is two weeks but I was an absolutely dick and just didn't feel like editing the chapter till now. You can actually keep up on what I'm doing and working on via tumblr at ombreecha. That way if I'm taking an excessive amount of time because I suck you can send me a message reminding me I agreed to two weeks and need to stop being lazy as hell. Thanks for asking!  
 **777** \- Guuuurl you follow my trash ass on tumblr? Legit shit there my dude #fistbump I'm glad domestic married SS was handled well and approved! I agree with you absolutely on side characters. Side characters for whatever reason seem to somehow become a life of their own and it makes me just be like "wuuuut? Senpai no don't do that my dude. It aint that deep." Ahhhh gorgeous thank you so much for the love and I hope you've been having a bomb month since we last spoke. Keep being gorgeous!  
 **Bleach power** \- if I can keep you digging it dude that's the best reward. Maddy going blind was a given in and is a necessary evil for me. The looking at with Sharingan eyes is such an small but significant moment for them in my opinion because that will be a thing of importance later.  
 **Guest(s), who loved it, loved the meeting, and those who can't wait for chapter 17** \- It's there in the horizon. You will get the goods it'll just be a matter of time~ haha but na thank ya'll legit.  
 **Guest, who said chapter 17 better be worth the wait** \- BRO. BRO. BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. IT BETTER FUCKIN BE YOU AINT WRONG CAUSE I WROTE THAT SHIT THREE FUCKIN TIMES SO HELP ME GOD. Thank you for digging the world I've created with this story. It means a lot and makes the research absolutely worth it.  
 **Soriya** \- I'm super determined to finish this. I legit think about this shit on the way to work a lot of times, and on my way home. While I'm at work. While I watch tv. I'm always plotting and planning for this piece tbh. I'll legit sit down on lunches to jot things down so I don't lose them. I'm so glad I could immerse you into this work I've created, and glad I could provide the content. dsajkdjsalkjdasl ahhh thank you for defending me dude although this round is 100% on me for being lazy and I own that completely.  
 **Guest, who loved my story** \- Thank you!  
 **Guest, who brought up my repetition** \- It is no secret to myself that repetition is a very clear issue for me. I am in no way in denial about the problems I face as a writer, but appreciate you bring it up regardless. While I appreciate your criticism I suggest instead of being offended by it and then dropping shade as if you can do better please be more critical and constructive. You complained about it but didn't provide specific examples. Can I go back through and find said issues? Absolutely, but I'm not sure by which and what point it struck a nerve for _you_ and therefore can't look specifically at the area you're having a problem with. As for the shade portion of your review-sweetheart make my goddamn day. Please if you can do better go forth and do so. I aint stopping you. Show me whatcha got bro. Please put up or shut down that shade though.

Hopefully your next attempt at criticism can be more constructive but regardless thank you for point out my security blanket. I'm not ready to let go of that as a writer but there's always time down the road as I continue to progress.  
 **fanofyourfanfic** \- This round it kinda was OTL I was bad and got lazy and wouldn't edit the chapter even though I had time too. I ended up watching a lot of murderous affairs, and catching up on the latest animeeees #shot but na dude thank you so much for enjoying my work. I appreciate the love you have for the content I've created it's super sweet.  
 **Guest, who said this was the best SS fic on FF** \- I appreciate you feeling that way dude jadksjadkla  
 **Guest, who said they were cute together** \- jdsajdksajdsalk omg yes i want this fluffy cuteness in this angst hell thank you for thinking I did cute things with them ajdslkajdlsak  
 **Guest, who said it was the best SS story they've read** \- djsakdjsakldja thank you omg you precious cinnamon roll

Thank you all for dealing with this writer shitlord. I appreciate yoru support, reading, and reviewing!


	15. The Tomb

x.x.x  
 **Chapter 15**  
The Tomb

* * *

As if like the wind he's left her side, and he's traveled further up north. Weeks separate them, but they're not apart. The whispered vulnerability he had uttered clings upon him. It whispers to him in the nights when he cannot sleep. It mutters to him as he wakes. It rings loud and clear as his feet hit against the ground. His blade is quick, and that darling dear pendent soars as his blade cuts through the air. The contact is quick and the body is easily ignored as they move forward heading deeper into battle as he continues forward unyielding, and unwavering. There's no missing the Uchiha that bare the colors of the Senju—he's just as easily removed from the field of battle.

 _He will not stop_.  
 _He cannot stop_.

 _They will not take Otogakure_.

They sought to take Uchiha territory. They sought death.

He would bathe the earth with Senju, and Uzumaki blood. He would paint this years spring flowers with the blood of those who had turned their backs on family— _traitors would be given no mercy_.

There's a hiss as the flames come forward, and he won't dare to back down. He'll drag this Uchiha down to hell. They had forsaken their name, they had forsaken their place, and they had forsaken their blood.

Feet dig within the dirt halting his actions before it's too late. Sasuke had barely caught the call of the Hyuuga who had come in his defense. There's no denying the speed at which this man moves as he brings the vortex around him with precision. This art is entirely their own, and entirely effective.

 _The Hyuuga_.

Allies— _family of a different kind_.

There's no need for words as he comes in right from behind with the fires extinguished so quickly. There's a knowing, and there's a movement of steps. They've done this before. They've fought beside each other more times than they could count. The trust they hold for one another is _mutual_. There's a touch of a smirk upon the corners of his lips. They'll start this game they play, and they'll see who holds the highest number—they'll count their victories upon those _so unfortunate_ to face them.

The blade digs within the mouth of an Uchiha who had dared to cross them. Deep within the mouth it slides pinning their head upon the earth with eyes filled with tears. That blade sinks deeper through skin and into the dirt spilling the blood vibrantly. Deep rich red take in the sight and it's intoxicating— _she couldn't reach him here_. This place was far too barbaric for that ethereal creature of spring. The thrill, and the excitement this gives him is far more than she should ever witness and see. She is deep within a camp, and he is here to take back this territory. In this moment, as the team of Hyuuga and his four man squad push further into Otogakure, he will give himself to battle—her thoughts would still be there to protect him but she could not soil her self any further within this place.

He has a job to do.  
He must keep _pushing_.  
Face held high and _pushing_ through.

The men that come before them come with their sentence upon display. He is their judge—they are to receive their punishment. There's no missing the way the screams send his heart fluttering. Fingers dig deep, and his blade cuts through only daring to halt as it glides through flesh, organ, and bone. Those that had once been being slaughter are now on the attack. They all rush forward refusing to let him down.

His presence is more than enough— _it's got them letting out their voices, and letting out their cries_.

Deep rich red take in every drop of blood that comes across his features, and they never miss the kunai meant for his throat. He will see it all, and he will remember it with all the vivid details it has in this moment.

The twist of his wrist brings the blade down upon the next shinobi. Cutting him down the middle spills their blood like an old bitter wine. His blade had gone in smooth and as it mixed with muscle and bone did it finish thick and slow. He's gone the next minute pinning another shinobi upon the ground and off one of his own.

 _He won't stop until his whole life is gone_.

Bone on stone. Blood and sweat married.

Face covered in deep rich red, and pushing through.

They spoke of him as the god of war— _the devil himself_. He would make their nightmares far more vivid than they had ever been before. She wanted peace. He would give her peace. He would slaughter them all to give her such a thing. The whisper of battle would lead him forward unable to feel anything at all. The pendant would lead him home able to feel whole again.

The grip upon this Senju's skull is all he needs to bring him back from lingering thoughts of her. The final blow comes with his sword pressing deeper within the chest that hides their heart. They light up bright with their teeth cutting through their tongue. The blood that comes from their eyes is expected, and paints them iridescently.

This battle is but a moment in the timeline, and they're not backing down. The Senju's numbers are higher, but the Uchiha are far more lethal. The shift of the sky painted in golds, and reds to the night makes it clear that this will continue on with no stop in sight. Time is dislocated—eternity is what a moment seems.

The count is high—those double digits shifting to triple as the army of Senju continue forward unyielding and unwavering. There's an end to how many they'll be willing to lose. It's only a matter of time. There's no reason to continue to lose so many for this territory.

 _They'll burn it down before they hand it over_.

Face held high he's already pushed through and deep within the village.

Fingers twitch. Knuckles turn white. His jaw tightens as he rises from his latest kill setting his eyes upon the next.

 _They may hold weapons, and run head first into battle, but they are still children_.

Shaky fingers hold the sword toward him. There's no missing the way their throat tightens as they try to hold back their tears. This child. He will die tonight. He will die in the dead of the night fighting for a cause he probably cannot understand at such a tender age— _they look no more then nine_.

His steps are even, and yet they're not quick. Every step he takes has this child shifting their foot against the ground as if to steady them further. The movement of his fingers has this child's eyes following scared to look away. The raise of his blade has this child without air— _consumed with fear_.

 _They still long for comfort when ill—_

He has never looked twice at killing a child shinobi. He's killed many—he's buried them with ease. Not once did he see them as children. He saw them as any other shinobi. He saw them as the enemy. He saw them as dangerous. Her words should not have found their way here. They should not be here to remind him—remind him that they are, in fact, children. Her words hold no place here. This was a battle.

This was _chaos_. This was _war._

— _and they still long to be taken care of_.

His blade is quick—he's removed this child's head letting it roll across the ground, and allowing their small body to slump down before him with _dead_ weight.

If they raised a weapon they were no different from the adult. If they sought to kill they were just as dangerous as those who threw them to be devoured. They were fodder, and they were the enemy.

 _He was them once_ —he had been _a child_ upon the field of battle.  
 _There's something so sour about this one, but he'll hold his head_ —

 _Face down_ —but he'll still _push through_.

There's no denying the way his jaw has cracked against the force that's taken him deep inside of a building long since deserted. There's no missing the iron within his mouth, and the eyes that hold him pinned upon the ground as their fingers tighten around his throat. These fingers will crush him—they'll steal the oxygen from his lungs. They'll bury him deep within the ground.

This man will kill him.  
Toka Senju's son— _will kill him if he doesn't do something_.

He does not know when he had not seen him, he does not know when he had arrived, and he does not know at what point he had allowed himself to let this man grip his throat.

The burn inside his lungs is obvious as his fingers desperately seek to remove that which renders him without air. Panic is covering him—he's feeling fear as the grip continues to tighten. Light catches his eye and widen in seeing the blade being raised. Hope is failing as it comes down piercing the skin and grazing his collar bone.

He can't hear the voice that whispers of battle when his heart pounds so loud within his ears. All he can see is what he'll leave behind as the bitter iron fills his nose. He's trapped. He's isolated. He cannot feel anything but the heart that dares to burst from his chest.

 _Endless night_.  
His head is against his tomb.

 _Lost inside this dream_.  
Where he can't speak— _and he can't scream_.  
 _He cannot feel anything_.

One of his comrades—he can barely focus upon who has come to his aid as they send his attacker flying across the field and pull the blade from his chest.

All he sees is red, and there is anger mixed with blood flushing his skin as he seeks to follow this son of Toka Senju. The grey of his high collared top is soaked with his bleeding, and yet he barely feels it with adrenaline powering his every move. The whisper of battle that had escaped him within his panic has found it's way through. It's pushed beyond the sound of his heart. It's pushed beyond the fear. It's with that soothing sound that he's on his feet rushing forward.

There's a scream.  
It's _hot_ and _loud_.  
It's _echoing_ as they come to a _clash_.  
The sounds of birds _echo_ , and _light_ the chaos _around them_.

This was the man who had longed for his wife, and he would drag him into yomi-no-kuni—into a hell far greater than he felt when she had become no longer within his grasp. He does not know what they may have shared, and the taunting thoughts of possible touches, and brief affectionate moments fill his head as he seeks to remove those possibilities.

 _They can't exist if this man no longer exists_.

She did not influence his battles, and yet here she was within this place she could not enter. She was the reason he sought to kill this man once and for all. He can understand why this man would seek to obtain her. He can understand why it is that this man felt so enamored by the otherworldly woman.

The pale rose-colored locks—he desires to know if they had been painted in this Senju's blood when she had healed, and mended him back together. That is the thought that makes him move quickly to avoid the fist that sought to connect with him.

The glow of those viridian—he longs to know if they had gazed upon this Senju with warmth. That is the thought that makes him wrap his fingers around the arm that had sought to harm him as the other digs the blade further into the Senju's other hand.

Those small hands and delicate fingers—he feels it quake within him to know if they had given those same longed for rubs within this Senju's hair. That is the thought that makes him press his foot upon his enemies back with as much force as he can muster.

"She will never be yours." his voice is entirely lethal, and entirely venomous.

"I will take her back." the Senju hisses with just as much sanguinary intent.

His foot digs harder into the man's back.  
His fingers tighten as he gives a yank.  
His eyes glow within the view of the bone that rips through the skin.  
His grin of wicked intent is giving way to teeth in the raw pleasure he feels at seeing blood pour from this man.

The howl of pain that comes with it is a lull so unlike that of his wife, the moon, or the whisper of battle. It is a sound laced with fear, and he revels in it. It sends his heart wild with sickening contentment.

"She _deserves. . ._ better!" the Senju's voice is a shattered scream.

Deep rich red widen, "Shut your mouth."

"You will never— _no matter what you do_ —be _good enough_ for her." his voice is pained and covered in erratic breathing.

The once wild heartbeat filled with contentment now beats wild with panic at the words, "Shut. Your. Mouth."

"You will _ruin_ her. You will _dirty_ her. You will _defile her._ "

He feels his heart constrict. He feels his air leave his lungs. He feels his fingers leave the broken arm he has inflicted. He feels his mind running. He feels his blade slide out from the hand it had been plunged into. He feels his foot retreat from the man's back. He feels his mouth gone dry. He feels himself unable to hear the sweet soothing whisper of battle.

 _He feels himself to be vile.  
He has let this man within his head once again._

There is fear, and the feel of heat upon his skin. There is a voice that yells out to him that he cannot hear, and then there is a foot within his ribcage that sends him flying and skidding across the roughened and abused village. There is blood that comes from his mouth. There is pain within his being.

He can feel the break within his ribcage. He can picture those viridian glowing in hurt at what he must look like. He can feel those fingers shake as she becomes desperate to mend him. He can feel those tears she poured so easily falling upon his skin. He can feel her panicked, and he can feel her fear.

It's _devouring_ him. It's _eating_ him alive. It's _sending_ him deep within his own fear once more.

He had desired to protect her. He had told himself he would do that. He had told her that she would not be alone. He had told himself within his exhaustion that he would not let her be alone.

He is drowning in trepidation as he sees the shadow upon the ground before him. Deep rich red widen as the apprehension soaks him far worse than the blood ever had. He needs to move. He needs to rise to the challenge. He needs to protect himself here and now.

He remembers the dreams in which they stood around him as he was unable to move. He remembers the fear of not being able to stop them.

 _He remembers—_

"Eight Trigrams Sixty-four Palms!"

* * *

There's the tent above her, and then there is the wild thud of her heart against her ribcage. She does not understand it. She does not remember what she has dreamed. She does not wish to go back to the dark place that had brought her from sleep.

The tears that fall instantly cannot be stopped. She lets out a wail as she seeks to find comfort. Her arms seek to shield herself from who she does not know. The wails are loud as they continue. There is no quiet within her shaking form.

"Sakura-san?"

The panic is evident in Shisui's voice and yet she cannot answer between her tears. She does not understand the sinking within her chest. There is the sharpest of aches, and there is hurt. It's overwhelming in its tight embrace upon her heart.

The rustle of one entering within the small space of her tent comes, and she knows that Shisui has come to check on her upon hearing her tears. There is the alarming thoughts that flood her as he comes closer. There's reasoning to believe she has just exhausted herself too far with the rate of people she has healed within the last seventy-two hours. There is reasoning to believe this is just a simple nightmare.

— _but it doesn't lessen the way her heart quivers_.

Finger's wrap themselves upon her arms crossed above her face. They are pulling one from her. There is a choke within her sobs, " _Where is Sasuke-kun_?"

There is such a selfishness within her at those words. She knows that he is far. She knows that he is out of her grasp, and yet she cannot stop herself from asking for him.

"Sakura-san, what is wrong? What happened?" the fear within his voice is high and has ignored her question.

"Where is he?" she gives out again between her tears as Shisui removes her other arm from her face.

The look she has now she is sure is pathetic, and yet she does not care. She does not care for how she looks in these moments. There is so much desperation to be within his protection. There is such longing to be within his silent comfort.

"Sakura-san. . ." his voice sounds pained, and it's with the lingering dread bubbling inside her that she manages to keep her eyes shut tightly to avoid seeing what expression paints his face.

There is no reason for this overwhelming fear that has shaken her core. There is no reason for the tears that soak her in such disgusting fashion. He pulls her forward with no effort as he brings her close to him. There are soothing sounds that fall from him, and it's with those sounds that she begins to find herself. The fingers that give gentle rubs upon her back make her grounded and reality set in. The loud wails have begun to descend to sobs of a far lower quality. They don't fall off all at once. They settle slowly with time. Her lids feel exhausted, and her brain feels lost inside a fog. Breathing from her nose has become difficult, and gives ways to deep inhales of oxygen in an attempt to ease her still pounding heart.

He does not continue to ask her what is wrong, and the fog her mind is entrapped within holds no desire to clear itself. The overwhelming feeling of consternation is upon her.

It's only after more time, and more comforting actions from the Uchiha who had come to her in panic that she settles back into the comfort of her blankets. There is the weakest of apologies that escapes her as she curls within herself.

"Sakura-san, I will stay until you are asleep. Please rest."

"I'm scared." it's a rasp and low but she is sure he has heard her.

The words of rest he has uttered are what thud within her mind as she thinks of the long journey her husband and her had taken when returning home. That had been not so long ago. They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm—he had fed her and she had made tea. They had sat within their bedroom in a silence that was entirely them, and then there is his words after she had told him to rest.

 _You said you felt desperate—you're not alone. I'll make you believe you're not alone._

It rings loud. It's there. He's absolutely trying. He wants to make sure she does not feel lost. He wants to make sure she is protected. She does such a disservice to him in this tent as she cries out within her dreams of dark intent. This man had struggled far longer than her within those places. The dreams he held were not kind, and they were not safe. It is with one that she is shaken to the core, and he has been doing this since long before she came to his side.

There is such a childish notion to that thought. She always wished to give, and to continue to give. She could not trouble those around her over such unnecessary fears. These people needed her to be strong, and to be capable of aid. There was no place for unrest, and no place for tears where she was.

That is the reality of war, and it is the reality of what was around her.

There's a longing to know what it is that frightens him—what is it that made her husband drown within the deep darkness of his sleep. She wonders if this is what he feels within the world of dreams. Sasuke's had been far worse than whatever had awoken her. They could only be that of a much dark intent. She had lived within this war as long as he had, and yet she was not there on the frontlines. She was not there watching as he witnessed the light fade from the eyes of those he trusted most, or as the smell of blood stayed deep within the air he breathed. She was not there to watch as one fell by her hand, nor was she there to watch as bodies piled the ground.

Would he share such things with her one day? Would he seek comfort in her when they became to much to bare? Would he look to her for some form of relief?

He was such a private man. He did not speak unless he felt it right. He did not wish to waste time. He was absolute and raw in everything he did. He was blatant—he was honest.

 _He was entirely him_.  
He was but an ordinary man when you pushed through the myths and the legends.

This husband of hers was truly a god of war, and with that title came a pain beyond what she had ever grasped. She had lost friends, and she had lost family. He had lost so much more.

 _He continued to lose everything he tried to protect_.

" _It's the joining of two people—a union._ " she breathes out as she looks for the comfort those words had given her not so long ago.

The exhaustion within her lids finally comes, and it's as she falls within the dark again that she continues to mumble forth the same notion that he had given within his own sleep ridden voice.

 _This was a marriage_.

The dreams are not dark, and they do not look to harm her. They are quiet, and they are lingering thoughts of him. There is no sound to accompany them. There is only him standing among his cherry tree that was in bloom, and there is that lackadaisical attempt decorating his face as he turns to look upon her. It's with that look upon his face that she walks out to him, and it's as she reaches out that he takes her hand within his own. The voice that's always deep and always soothing within his calm will not come to her ears. They will not caress the air around them—that's okay though, because this is not a dream of dark intent. It is a simple measure of comfort her mind has provided. It's a simple measure of comfort he provides even out of her grasp.

Day break comes, and with it more healing, and more mending.

They come from battles further out. There had been no temporary fixes within this group. Their medics had been slaughtered, and their supplies lost in the fight. They bleed with makeshift attempts medical aid for this journey to them. Her feet are hurried, and her words are commanding as they begin to do what they can. She is moving them, and she is ordering them.

The gashes are deep. The broken bones are so much closer to that of shattered. The missing limbs continue to bleed through the haphazard gauze. There is howls, and there are cries. Their gaze is stained, and her fingers are digging deeper. She's doing all she can to save.

Poison is in the fifth shinobi that enters her station. She is giving silent gratitude to Tsunade for all of her teachings. The sixth dies upon her table, and yet there is no time to mourn over the loss. The numbers just continue to increase. There are more living than dead in this camp, but she can only wonder for how long. The battle these shinobi have crawled back from is all the chaos she expects, and all the chaos she remembers from Kusagakure.

There is anger flush upon her at seeing those from not just her home, but those in neighboring homes upon her table. Those ebony locks, and ebony eyes that gaze upon her within their bloodied state only continues to make her heartache at seeing those she gained within her marriage harmed. Her touch is not as gentle as she wishes it to be, but it is necessary. They would have time for that when they were out of harms way. They would have time for all of it when they recovered.

Those that were from her home are able to give way to the saddest of smiles upon their faces. They tell her how seeing her gives them hope. They tell her that they feel safe within her presence. They tell her they do not see death as the glow of her hands lights upon their skin. Those are the smiles filled with pain that keep her moving. Shisui has tried far too many times to get her to take a break and eat. She tells him she can eat later. She tells him they need her. She tells him that they are the priority.

The hours that tick by are in this moment so fast, and yet so slow. They are exhausting, and she is seeing to those who need assistance outside of her station. She's lost count on how many she has healed today, and she knows she will lose count again tomorrow. The other's show their fatigue. They are drained dry, and they are low on chakra. There's no stopping her from taking over when she can. The rest they need will help within the following day, and the day after that.

There's a scream that makes her head whip to the cause, and rush from the medic's side. It is a child. They are not Uchiha. They are Senju. There is no denying it with their torn and shredded clothing bright with the custom colors. Powerful strides are what carry her forward as she approaches.

The bitterness that falls from the child only causes her fingers to curl within her palm. The glow of her eyes have come to gaze upon him with disdain. This was a child of war. There is the call from her conscious that he is but a child—and then there is the reminder that he could have been the cause of any who died within her care.

Sakura Uchiha is conflicted.

There is so much distaste for what the world has become in these moments. The distant memory of when the roles had reversed as she healed in a neutral territory flood her senses His genes had made it obvious—those ebony eyes, and that ebony hair. He had held the same pale complexion as her husband, and back then she had looked upon him in disdain as she does the Senju before her.

 _She had healed him nonetheless—he was a child after all_.

Senju, and Uchiha.  
 _They were truly one and the same_.

They were taking her people from her, and yet she knows that this child only is doing as he has been told. They were slaughtering each other within this decade long war, and yet she knows that there is no one to truly blame. There was no difference between Senju and Uchiha within these moments. There was no difference between Senju and Uchiha when their bodies fell to the ground as they left the world of the living.

It's that resounding truth that makes her try to step forward as they seek to murder the bound child. The fingers that have wrapped around her wrist seize her from doing so though, and lead to the clash of ebony to viridian. The firm press of his lips is tight as he gives way to a shake of his head. The viridian cast themselves onto the ground as she hears the child murdered in front of all who have come to witness the capture. He is not wrong. She knows that he is keeping her from intervening because this was war, and this was necessary to protect those within this camp.

The brutality was something one could not stop, and to stop that which has just happened only proves to put them in more danger.

She would pray for him when she returned.  
She would pray for all of those who were left them in these moments.

Senju and Uchiha.

* * *

 **Author Note:**

I'm not gonna lie to you. I actually really like the Sauce portion of this chapter. Sakura's is okay. I don't have an like real issues with her section, but I legit loved Sauce's. Writing his stuff is always fun tbh. The whole time I edited this it was legit just like "YAAAAASSS SAUCE. YAAAAASSS." with a mix of "There my babies go. My Hyuuga and my Uchiha #fistbump kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiings". I still haven't quite figured out what the hell I'm gonna title the not used content which is why you haven't seen it. I have decided tho while writing further into the story I do wanna have a short side story collection that can flush out some stuff outside of their marriage such as Sasuke's childhood, Neji during the war, etc. etc. I would love to flush out Sasuke's childhood specifically since I don't see it being done in the main storyline. Either way I'll come up with a name for the not used content eventually. So that stuff is coming I just can't decide on what to call it and won't post it till I work that out.

. . . Listen naming shit is hard don't look at me like that. It took me four hours to name my FFXIV character. It's a process #shot

With me being out of town and this being late due to exhaustion from some IRL stuff I'd rather not get into I only checked this over once. So just like last chapter expect the errors. At some point I do wanna have someone go back over every chapter tho to help me clean it up.

 **My guest dudes**

 **Guest, who said I write like a pro** \- I appreciate that dude but honestly there's way better peeps. I don't take writing serious enough to be a pro.  
 **Guest, who hopes there's more moments to come** \- Oh dude we at the beginning of moments. You haven't seen anything yet haha Thank you tho!  
 **Lola** \- It's coming I've estimated the drop for Chapter 17 around July 4th-which btw if you don't know is the BatmanxCatwoman Wedding date. Save it. Enjoy that wedding I'm getting cake #deadserious  
 **Guest, who loved it** \- Thank you!  
 **777** \- I'm sorry to hear you failed your driving test again, my dude. Keep working hard though. You'll get it soon enough I'm sure. Be sure to tell me when you do! I'm glad that my last chapter could cheer you up though. Sauce's pov is best pov if we're being completely honest lol Oh god Lifetimes is such fun. I really need to make something for lifetimes again soon. Yeah I do plan to pop that "what if" chapter at some point. It's just naming it that's been a process. Thanks for always reading you cinnamon roll djsakjdskjdal  
 **Guest, who couldn't handle the fluff** \- dsajdkslajdskadl yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasss that fluff man gets to ya everytime.  
 **Guest, who told me to keep it** \- I be. I am. I will. I can. Yissss.  
 **Anonym** \- Thanks my dude! I just want to always give back even a small portion of the time you all put into this. Long haired Sakura is legend. She is an Icon She is laifu. Lets be honest. I'm glad you were digging last chapter!  
 **Guest, who enjoyed the emotion in last chapter** \- jdskajdksajdal thank you my dude!  
 **Guest, who thought I wasn't going to continue** \- Naw. Like I promised KingoftheSharingan I would finish this and so I am. I have to much invested at this point to stop half way as well. While I am currently struggling I'm slowly getting through that now.  
 **Guest(s), who loved the last chapter, and/or said it was beautiful** \- Thanks so much you guys! Glad you enjoyed it!  
 **Guest, who asked me to update sooner** \- I update when I can. Sorry it's been delayed the last few months!  
 **Guest, who binged my story** \- jdsakljdsaldsajkl dude that's bomb and so cool to hear you're digging the story. I'm actually surprised chapter 9 was your favorite since that chapter was concluding a lot of drama around this fanfiction haha Now we just gotta see if I can top that for you.  
 **Guest, who was up till 4:26 AM** \- YOU GET IT. YOU DO THIS. YOU SHOW TIME WHO'S BOSS. STAND TALL AND TAKE THE THRONE MY DUDE CAUSE I DIE AROUND LIKE 4 AM USUALLY. YOU THE REAL MVP.  
 **Guest, who felt the pacing was insanely good** \- My duuuuude. Pacing literally gives me the fright. Like I'm always so scared I'm jumping to fast OTL I'm glad though that the hard work I've put into the plot, and keeping the relationship focal is well received. It can be a lot honestly. I hope I can continue to provide those things for you.  
 **Guest, who thought of Sakura killing Hinata's dad** \- I mean that's not the route we're going but you're free to wonder how it would go if that's what happened. Sakura doesn't have a reason to kill Hinata's dad especially since she knows who he is and has seen him twice now in a meeting. If Hinata isn't allowed on the battle field Hanabi definitely isn't either. Sakura while not being in those situations is leaarning to understand both of them. She understands Sauce thanks to having hatred towards Itachi, and at the same time while Itachi is confusing for her she understands the him that loved and adored his younger brother. I mean dude throw them headcanons down regardless they're interesting to read.  
 **Guest, who legit just asked me to update 2 minutes ago** \- Brah it's comin I swear.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing and I'll see ya'll soon. Keep on keeping on my dudes!


	16. The Decay

x.x.x

 **Chapter 16**  
The Decay

* * *

There would be no return home for him—no, not in this state. There would be no returning to her in the blooded, and broken state he resided in. He would not allow her to fall amidst the trepidation. He would take the healing of the standard medic. There were pleas to not request such things, and to allow them to bring _her_ to him. Those pleas brought forth a lividity they simply could not understand.

"This is why you were to marry her was it not? You know that there are few who are as exceptional at healing as she is." the Hyuuga's voice is laced in irritation as he stands with his arms crossed upon him.

He gives no response but a look. It's heated, and it's aggressive in all of it's decoration. The hair on his neck stands as the medic within this station seeks to ease his discomfort. Their fingers are not as soft as hers and they do not have the same warmth within their glow. They are not as gentle, and caring within their approach.

The Hyuuga had come to his aid. Neji had fought the Senju off as he attempted to ground himself. Only more frustration, and more hatred echoed through him in waves at the thought. He had allowed this man to gain an advantage with words. He had broken the Senju's arm and dealt greater physical damage, and yet the Senju had landed a blow mentality of greater proportions. He had planted the seed of doubt, and with that seed it had bloomed into unknown insecurities.

He had told him that he would _dirty_ her.  
He had told him that he would _defile, and ruin_ her.  
 _He had told him he would_ _never_ _be good enough for her_.

He had known those thoughts, he had been within those moments of doubt, and yet he had never considered them as much as he had when he held the Senju down and snapped their bone beneath skin and muscle.

He knows that she is all spring, and warmth.  
He knows that is all the things he would never be.  
He knows that she deserved so much more than he could ever hope to give.

Those pale rose-colored strands had been ruined with his blood, and the roughened fingers that sought them out. Those viridian had glowed with warmth upon him— _he_ _was unworthy_ _of such warmth_. Those small and soft fingers had given the warmest of caresses within his ebony strands—he _was_ _too_ _vile_ _for such affection_.

The fear of her being out of his grasp though is far more frightening than ruining that in which she is. There is the need to have her here with him, and yet in those moments of fear upon the battlefield he could see the grief that would decorate her, he could see the tears as they slid from her chin, and he could see the fingers that would shake as her voice rang out in command for assistance in mending him back together.

There had been enough of those moments. There had been enough of her fear. He would not continue to give her more of the same. He had made these mistakes before, and in the state his marriage lay he could not—would not—cause it more harm. He could not take the chance of it breaking their rebuilt foundation. He could feel her pleas, and he could feel the sobs she had given within their entry way. They carry a gravity of crushing proportions. They carry with him the need to quell her desperation.

 _I'm holding my breath that you will feel anchored to this world._

If the battle he had just been saved from was anything it was a showing of his anchor to the world. It was proof of his desire to breathe once more. The fear he had felt when the shadow of his enemy had fallen upon him was all she would have needed to see—to know he was anchored.

 _I'm holding my breath that you do not walk into this war with no attachment._

She had become his attachment—how could she not see what she has done to him? He had never been one to rush forward with such an influence upon his motives. He had gone after that Senju for _her_ , and for no other reason. It was not done out of the ideals he was meant to fight for. It was not done for those who looked to him for victory.

 _I'm holding my breath that you care if you die. I'm holding my breath that there is so_ _me_ _way to make you care._

He _cared_. He cared _far too much_. He cared for _all_ the wrong reasons. He cared in such a painstakingly unsightly way. He would not die yet. He could not die yet. Not with his mother and father gone from this earth needing honor brought to them. Not with his people gazing upon him with all the successes he brought to them within their eyes. Not with her _awaiting_ his return, and his protection. None of these were the reasons she wished for him to care—he did not need her to specify such a thing.

 _She had wanted him to care for his own well-being_.

He would care for everyone else. It was easier. It was simple. It was _something_. Who could possibly think he could care for himself—he who was so _vile_ , and _cruel_?

 _What is it I have to give for you to do these things?_

He cannot stop the pained and raspy chuckle that escapes him as his fingers curl upon the table he's perched upon. It's entirely sorrow ridden. It's dripping within the anguish he feels at those words. What more could she possibly give? She was always giving. He was always receiving.

Even as he tried to find the right answers.  
Even as he tried to find the right way to give back.

He was desperate within his attempts to give back. He was trying to find his center with her. He was trying to release himself from all the selfishness that he had shown and grown accustomed to with her.

She had given more than enough to receive the things she asked for. He was doing his best to give them, and yet he questions if they are what he should be giving. He questionings if this was not several steps back. He had lost this battle. There was no denying the loss he had suffered at the bastard Senju who had taunted and mocked his marriage. They had talked of her as if she was an _object_ —as if she were a _valuable item_. They talked of her as if she had _no will of her own_.

 _Would she leave his side for this man who believed in the ideals she had?  
_ No _—_ she supported _him._

 _It is because I love you that that I believe in a peace brought by you._

Ebony fall to the pendant upon the hilt of his sword. It's dirty with blood, but not less than it was when she gave it to him. She sought to give him comfort and protection out of her reach— _with her love_.

"Sasuke-sama! Sasuke-sama!"

The urgency has him reeling back sending tremors of pain throughout his being. It's harsh and loud, and the throbbing that comes with it quakes his muscles. He can see magnitude of importance the disheveled Uchiha comes with. There's terror behind that stare. The thought of it being of word of her being harmed sends his heart wild in perturbation.

This anxiety a constant he had not known before.

"Sasuke-sama. I—" the Uchiha is deep within his desperate need for air, and yet this is not why he has stopped. It's as though whatever falls from him will in fact become a reality, and that only proceeds to send an undeniably sickening ache throughout his chest.

The words that hit the air have all present halting. The medic stops within their attempts to heal to slowly turn their head as they soak in what's been said. The Hyuuga lets his arms fall in what he would gauge as devastation, and he himself has stopped breathing. His endless ebony have gone wide. There is the relief of what has been said, and in it's place the shattering realization of what has dared been spoken among them takes all of his thoughts from her.

This distant relation to him had come with all the urgency necessary. There was nothing that would have prepared him for what had come. There had been no warning—no sign of this to be a possibility. Of all the members, and all the men within his clan this was not one he would have foreseen being taken from them.

His direct line is now cut by one more. There was no longer a mother, there was no longer a father, there was no longer a brother, and now—

 _T_ _here was no longer an uncle_.

He was down to _two_.  
He was down to two direct lines.  
He was down to Madara Uchiha, and he was down to Tajima Uchiha.

Izuna Uchiha had _died_.

* * *

Home.

It is dreary and daunting as they enter the gates. There is no humor within the air. There are no smiles true in nature. They are small and they are tight. The words that had come only days before had released her from her duties. She would be needed here. The loss they had suffered would be one that changed dynamics, and it would change the way things played out from here on out.

Her husband had lost another.

 _He had lost even more_.

He would come home to them soon, and with that they would be back out. They would be attending the funeral. They would be in wear of endless black, and they would stand to give their farewells. That man had been kind to her. He had come when her husband had been harmed. He had come to her in order to ask for her assistance with medic relief. He had been there to give her praise when she had played her part within traditions not of his own. He had been warm in his treatment of her.

There is the low nod of her head leaving Shisui's side. He has fallen among those with heavy hearts. His face painted in all smiles no longer present for any to see. This loss had harmed so many. There had been nothing that would have foretold such a thing.

That is just another of the many realities they live in.

You would never know when the one beside you vanished from your grasp.

She knows she needs to enter her home filled with sorrow. She knows that she needs to begin her bathing, and dressing for more travel. There is no rest for them in these times.

Her legs do not carry her there though—they carry her further and farther from home. They carry her to the shrine that her husband would take her to for Hatsumode. The spring air does little to warm her skin in these moments. Her cloak is dirty, stained, and far from what she should be wearing in the presences of gods.

Her fingers work to remove the gloves as she walks upon the stairs. They feel the cool breeze with each touch and pull she makes. The silence is deafening. It's not loud in this moment, but it is thick within the air. It is laying upon their hearts, and their shoulders. Sliding her gloves within her pouch that is tucked upon her side she takes in the deepest of breaths within her lungs. It burns far more than it had on the way home.

The news has turned her nose raw, and cheeks rosy in color as she gives a small offering before allowing her lids to close shut. The clap of her hands is not loud as they come together. There's asking for peace. There's asking for a life of calm for the Senju child they murdered within the camp. There is a plea to allow those who had fallen—those who continue to fall with each passing minute—to find warmth in the afterlife, and be pardoned for the part they have taken in this war when in front of King Yan. There is no stopping her from biting down upon her lip as if it will stop its shaking as she comes to ask for her departed uncle-in-law to rest at ease. There is hope that he died without pain, and there is hope that he will find as much warmth as he has given to her in the afterlife.

Wide doe-eyes open at the feel of one behind her. There's no mistaking the scent that comes from the male that holds her. There is no mistaking the arm that has wrapped around her bringing her to press against him. The ebony strands that mix within her own upon her shoulder are the same ones that her fingers have found themselves within throughout her marriage.

"Sakura." his fingers tighten within the cloth of her cloak.

The words are heavyhearted. The rasp of his voice is strangled in saying her name. She knows it has taken every ounce of his strength to utter this, and give away his mourning. Her hands still within their palms pressed in prayer lower to allow one to cup his hand upon her. He does not need her words. He does not need her apologies. He needs her to help him hold all that he is desperate to protect.

She attempts to turn to him, but is stopped as his arm presses her back against him tighter, as if such a thing were possible, " _Please_."

He is pleading to her. He is begging her to stay just as they are. She will give whatever it is he asks. He will never have to ask twice for such things. She will give all that she can. She always has, and she always will.

He had played his part within her father's passing, and she will play her part within Izuna's passing.

The moments that pass by are long, and slow. She does not know how long they stayed there for. She does not know how much time had passed within this place of prayer. There is only his uneven, and raspy breath against her ear. There is only the shudder of his form, and heat that radiates off him.

He is hurt mentally, and physically. There is no missing the signs. His breathing is shallow within his rasp as it falls from him. She will need to mend him back together. Viridian gaze upon the gray sky within this afternoon. Her head rests comfortably upon his shoulder before letting her lids fall and giving one last prayer to those that watch above them.

She thanks them for bringing him to her once more.

He captures her hand within his as they walk down from the shrine. They walk in silence as they make their way inside their home. He has not asked for anything else. He makes no fuss as she attends to his wounds. There are no looks between viridian and ebony. The wounds he has are far worse than she had realized. The medic who had attempt to heal him within her absence had done what they could, and yet she knows that they were forced to leave him in this state due to the word of his uncle's passing. She too had been forced to halt in her assistance at such word. He is quick from his bath, and they are moving as quickly as they can. It's as he finishes packing items within his bag that he finally allows her to see the ebony that she had sought out since their time at the shrine.

The swallow that follows in this connected moment is completely involuntary. It's thick and it's heavy. He's here before her but the way those eyes stare down upon her make it clear—he's so much further away. He's never looked so blank before her— _so preoccupied_. This man had closed himself off when he had taken a hold of her hand and they descended the steps.

He had pushed his own mourning away. He had cast aside his own feelings. He had brought up a wall meant to keep himself locked within.

 _Could he even see her?_

The maid tugs upon the obi of this kimono she's been wrapped within. It does not have beautiful patterns. It does not have anything outside of their emblem stitched with care upon it's back. The deep black color is unfaded and as endless as the night devoid of stars. The cloak upon her is of the same color. They are matching within their mourning wear.

He does not take her hand this time, and that only makes her gaze upon it as he steps firmly in front of her. There is the need to take it within her own to remind him he is not alone. She is here, and she is willing to do whatever he asks.

She can't take that hand in hers, though.  
There is no desire to be selfish in acquiring his hand within her own.

The travel is quiet.

Only two others travel with them for protection. The travel to Madara's home feels long and foreboding. They do not run within the trees. They hold strong footing as they travel. The funeral will be soon, and they will make it there before it begins with this pace.

 _Footsteps_.  
Thrusted _forward_.  
 _Doors_ and _no pleasantries_.

All who have attended wear as they do. There are many among them. She recalls them from meetings, and she recalls them from their visits to her home to converse with her husband as they passed through.

The wake begins. The exchanging of money in envelopes tied of black and white are handed off—she does not know how much Sasuke has given and yet, she feels there is no true price that would ever be enough. He has given multiple envelopes—the people that reside within their village must have handed them off. There is the assumption this is what he prepared as she was cleaned and prepared to head back out. Following his lead is done with care. Tajima is the first to give his respect, and Madara is not far behind.

 _H_ _is appearance is startling_.

The bandages wrapped around his eyes make her heart hammer at who had harmed him—had it been the one who had taken Izuna from them all? There is the urgency to attend to him after they have settled. There is desire to make sure this man is not taken from her husband's side as well.

Fingers find themselves wrapped around her own as he takes her with him to pay their respects. She is his spouse. She is his wife. She is his partner. She is the second part of this joining of two. Those fingers of his have left hers, and in their showing she follows through grabbing her own incense from the bowl. They hold it to their foreheads before dropping them within the burner. Palms pressed together and lids fall as they give way to their silent respect. She is uttering all the things she had among the gods before her husband had come for comfort. The smile upon her is deep within its sadness. It's a smile of pain, and a smile of loss. It's bitter upon her lips.

 _It is all she can bare to give.  
_ This man's kindness was all she had known him for.

The feelings that radiate beside her are washing throughout the room. Her husband's lips are pressed within that firm line she has grown to know so well, but it's the brows pinched within his respects that she has not expected. He is truly mourning in this time— _she had never wished to see such a thing_.

They take their place beside Tajima, and Madara. The guests follow suit in giving their own respect to the departed. Those among the highest of rank stay for the night vigil. The meal is light, and does not hold the flavor. The loss within the room has taken the flavor from the joy that food provides.

It is as they are retiring for the night that she stays locked within her place even as her husband has risen awaiting her to follow.

"Madara-sama, would you like me to tend to your wounds?" she is soft spoken—she does not wish to anger her husband, but she cannot stop the desire to make sure this last remaining link of his is protected and out of harms reach.

He gives a nod, and her husband assists in her raising offering out a hand. There is an uncharacteristic tightening of his grip. There is no explanation for such a thing—it gives away a sense of misgiving. It's as if her husband fears what will become of her in treating his last remaining link.

Madara is quiet as he removes the bandages. She ties the heavy endless sleeves back, and ties the locks of long pale rose tightly behind her. It's not until he turns that the startle she had felt within the wake decorates her face blatantly. The bruising, and the dried blood upon his face she can only hope is truly not as severe as it looks. The step she takes back brings her husband to her gripping her shoulders to steady her withdrawal from the sight. There's a reassuring squeeze upon her arms and she knows he is hoping it will give her comfort from such a sight.

She swallows the suffocating lump that had lodged itself within her throat as she moves forward to begin her treatment, "What—what happened? Who did this to you?"

"You have taken his eyes." Her husband's voice cuts through the air.

This has only caused her to halt her fingers as her gaze comes upon her husband, "His eyes? You mean—Izuna-san's eyes are—?" She cannot understand what it is her husband has given away.

He only grants her a nod of his head as Madara speaks within the air, "He has no need for them while dead."

The chill that overcomes her with those words is sharp upon her heart. She has never before heard one talk in such a way of their family. The words are like that of convenience—as if this man was now only convenient in donating his eyes. Had this man not loved his sibling? Had this man not cherished him? Had he only seen him as any other?

There is only the smallest of laughs within the air as she keeps her viridian upon this man in front of her. This is what had made her husband tighten his grip upon her hand. This is what he had feared—had he known at the wake what Madara had done? What Madara had taken? Had he foreseen what Izuna's death would bring?

Fingers that shake find their way upon this man's face. There is hesitance with every movement as she seeks to heal, and remove any discomfort that is upon him. There is certainty that her heartbeat within the room is loud enough for both males to hear its frighteningly erratic pace. The discoloration of skin is easing with her glow, and the laceration that hints upon the corners of his eyes lessen with every brush of skin.

The Uchiha leader seizes her fingers here and now as if she has harmed him, "That is enough. It does me no good if you are exhausted."

The panic to rip her hand from his is there. The urgency to create distance is clear within her viridian. The spring wife can only feel the way her eyes widen. This was not the same man who had come to find her within her cousin's home. This was not the man who had praised her. This man is inundated with hatred, and intent.

 _This man before her_ _and the man she had known throughout these last two years were no longer one and the same_.

Had she ever truly known this man oozing with malice?

The grip is tightening upon her fingers, "Please rest, Sakura-san. There is still much to do tomorrow."

She finally can no longer wait to remove her fingers from his as she tears her hand from his moving to come to her husband's side. Those endless ebony, and viridian meet—she knows she is to leave and retreat to their given room.

There is hesitance to leave his side with such a man, but it is only seconds later that she does so. She feels suffocated. She feels crushed within the rawness that this man exudes, and to be here any longer only seeks to drown her within such malevolent feelings.

To be here any longer would be _deadly_.

All she can do is collapse within the room as she seeks to find oxygen. She had not known that a man could do such a thing with his mere presence. This was far beyond what she had ever come to know. The desire to find more air is all that powers her lungs. The desire to never be locked in a closed space with a man that radiated such anger—such malice and such hate—is what makes her wrap her arms around herself.

 _This is the protection she seeks_.

The paper door slides open, and with it her husband has come within the room. His eyes— _they glow bright in_ _that_ _vibrant rich red_ —had they always done so? He is at her side instantly, and he has gripped the hand once held by the Uchiha leader in his. Those glowing eyes of his look over her fingers and look over her hand as if he is looking for something—some kind of harm done to her.

 _Yet, he is the one with blood upon his lips_. _He is the one with a mark across his face_.

There are no words to ease her heart tonight. There are no words from him inside this foreign room. He is all the usual stoic—the hint of anger he had held within those glowing eyes of his have left. They are quick to prepare for bed within the silence.

It's only then that he opens his mouth, "We will discuss this at home." it's soft, and that is what makes her look over her shoulder at him.

The glow of red is gone, and in its place are those eyes that reflect the same color as the kimono she's worn today.

That is what carries her forward. Those ebony of his have taken hold of her viridian as if to hold onto them with no remorse. Her fingers glow—she has only remembered as she looks upon him partially dressed that he still has wounds in need of healing. The job she had done at home had been the barest of attempts—it had only made it so his rib cage would not cause him greater issues within their travels. It is still bridle—it could break again if she did not tend to him correctly.

Those lips of his remain tight with her coming to mend him. He only gives fingers that dance upon her head before digging within her rose-colored locks as she works on him.

Sleep is hard to find inside these four walls. They only continue to stare upon each other. There are no brief moments in which their hands brush against each other. She feels as though to touch him in this home is forbidden. The frustration is openly painted deep upon the corners of her mouth.

Lids that flutter open have no realization of when they had closed within the night before. Her husband has already risen and has already begun to dress himself. There is a certain level of distance between them. It's not physical. It's entirely mental. This is the furthest she has ever felt from him when he was within her reach. No moment in their marriage had felt like this—it is as if they are back to the time when he had slid the door open when they first met. He had found her crying within his home in distress over her new life. He had casted his eyes from her as if she had been a mere object in the room.

The funeral holds the same traditions that it had during the wake. They drop the incense once more into the burner. They give forth final prayers, and they still take their place beside that of Tajima and Madara. The wrapping upon his eyes is back where it had been in the previous day. The sight plummets her stomach.

The coffin when opened is not a sight she had expected. The face is covered with a cloth of white, and she cannot bring her eyes to gaze upon it as they place their flowers within the coffin, and then watch as it is nailed shut—to watch as it is to never be opened again.

The repetition of incense comes, and the furnace is handled by Tajima as the cremation begins. They turn for the feast that comes. It is quiet with only small chatter among them. Sakura does not speak. She only can casts her viridian upon Sasuke's form between her bites. He has remained quiet throughout all of it. She can only begin to wonder what has come within his thoughts.

He stands in front of her and she behind when they finally make the journey home. Those who have traveled with them speak among themselves. Their conversation is that of idle chatter to fill the solemnity that hangs above them.

The night that falls upon them, and decorates the sky brings forth an uncharacteristic chill deep inside spring. They walk within their home still lingering within the sorrow.

All of them who make up this home, and all of them who make up this village will need time to heal.  
They will need to stand strong unchained from loss before they can run forward once more.

* * *

 **Author Note:**

So this took way longer to get out then I had ever intended. Between a visiting friend, pushing my own work off to assist a friend with theirs, and then a small bout of depression I didn't honestly want to deal with going through the revisions. We're here though and it's out finally. Thank you all for waiting so patiently. This was definitely the longest wait you guys had to face and I legitimately am sorry that it took me so long to get back to all of you.

Ya'll thought I was terrible to Sakura. Little did you know I'm a bigger asshat towards Sasuke. 100% true story. #pleasedon'tendmyexistence #idofeelbadthatidickhimoversomuch

 **Guest Reviews**

 **Guest, who told me to keep it up** \- Thank you so much!  
 **Guest, who seriously cannot** \- I feel that deeply I usually as well cannot lol All jokes aside those connections are important just as they were in the canon. Thank you so much for your patience.  
 **Guest, who said Sauce's POV are best** \- Where's the liiiiiie? He is the driving force behind this if we're being honest. I'm so glad I can prove a story that makes it so you can imagine those things for them.  
 **777** \- While not under the best of circumstances I have in fact given some SS interaction this chapter. There is more coming though. I cannot confirm if he a legit ex or a fuuuuckboi. Also, there seemed to be some confusion. Sakura did not heal a Senju child last chapter. She watched them kill one. Shisui stopped her from intervening. Thanks for your continued support, my dude.  
 **Anya** \- Not everything I write is everyone's cup of tea my dude. There are plenty of works that do not use this method out there. I don't understand why learning another way or gaining an understanding through watching another is problematic for you? To each their own tho brah. Small gestures aren't romanticized enough. Large examples of love are overdone, and people take for granted the little things others provide. That's the point. Regardless, hope you find something you can enjoy~  
 **Guest, who gasped out of excitement** \- I've done my job if I've managed all that my dude dsjkaljdlskajdakl So glad I managed to write a decent antagonist from the sounds of it as well. THOSE QUESTIONS BRAH. WAIT FOR IT. IT'LL BE ANSWERED AT SOME POINT. NOT SURE WHEN BUT THAT KINDA GETS ANSWERED. I like to put them in similar straights to a point although I feel I do Sasuke dirtier than Sakura as obviously stated above lol #shot  
 **Guest, who asked if I knew what they meant** \- #winkwinkwinkbraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah imgettingwutyouthrowindownmyduuuuude  
 **Guest, who loved it** \- Thank you so much for reading!  
 **Guest, who was speechless** \- djskajdsalk thank you my dude  
 **Bleach Power** \- In the original version I had them take her and it was ridiculous OTL not gonna lie  
 **Guest(s), who said it was amazing, and phenomenal** \- Thank you both so much sjdklajdkslaj p.s. i can confirm there will be children. yes plural. chiiiiiildren  
 **Kandice, who called me on my shit about warnings** \- You aint wrong. I normally don't do that but I specifically gave that detail due to me being neglectful and feeling it was unfair to reward peoples patience. Regardless my bad on the spoiler as it was never my intention to ruin it for you and thank you for calling my bitch ass out cause I had it comin legit. DJAKJDKAJDSA IMSOGLADYOULIKETHOSELITTLEPRECIOUSDETAILS. I agree I think everyone auto goes for the hair cut moment and I personally love her with long hair. Me and Beat lose our shit over Itachi calling her imouto not gonna lie and of course everyone should love best boi shisui djsadkjsajdas Thanks for the review my dude.  
 **Guest(s), who asked me to update sooner** \- . .I'LLTRYTODOBETTER.  
 **Guest(s), who loved it** \- Thank you so much my dudes  
 **Usher** \- Oiiii yaaaaaaaaaaaas my dude I will continue forward thank you #bows  
 **Guest, who said a good author doesn't make their readers wait** \- Guess I'm a shit author. Fuck off bro.  
 **Guest, who said the side stories would be a good support** \- I agree! I'm hoping once I come back from NY I can get that rolling out.  
 **rihaaaaaaan** \- I mean. I've kinda been all over the place. Lots of different things have been going on behind the scenes IRL but it'll buff out my dude thank you djsajdsakljdal  
 **Guest, asking if I'll be completing the story** \- that's the dream and goal dude. I absolutely intend to finish this.  
 **Guest, talking about the SasuSenju face off** \- Personally I dig every moment cause god I made that Senju a dick and it's comical for me #shot Thanks for reading my work my dude!


	17. The Reaping

x.x.x  
 **Chapter 17**  
The Reaping

* * *

It doesn't matter how bright the sun is. There's no warmth to be had in his retreat from the war. His uncle is gone from the world of the living, having made his way beside his mother and father. The list of family continues to grow shorter. His grandfather stolen right after—of old age or stress—it didn't matter. Brows pinch at the thought as he settles his chin upon his knee. Subconsciously he swings his free leg over the engawa. It's rhythm was barely felt as he gazed out upon his garden. It bloomed with the colors of spring.

This war sought to take everything from him. This war sought to render him with nothing.  
One had slipped between his fingers. Another no longer awoke days later.

Fingers curl turning white within the cloth of his pants. Perhaps this was punishment— _divine intervention_. The gods must truly be angry with him for all that he's done since his first time upon the battlefield. _They demanded an exchange_ —for all the lives he took they would pluck away what he sought to keep protected and safe within his hands. They sought to show him the cruelty he showed others.

 _No_ —the Senju took Izuna, and their cruelty had taken Tajima days later.  
The gods could not possibly reside in this world.

If they had they never would have allowed this war to go for as long as it had. They never would have allowed children to become fodder. They never would allow so much blood to cover the terrain.

The sun seeks to warm him but it can't make its way deep enough. He's numb to it's attempts to heat deep within his skin, and it cannot make the home painted in sorrow brighter with it's rays. The endless nights continue to maintain their hold— _sleepless_.

He cannot defend and he cannot protect.

He cannot bring them victory and he cannot return home.

He can only choke as he rises and stare at the ceiling as he lays.

He had lost so much. He had done all he could to maintain his grip upon that which was left.  
It was pointless. He's reaping what he's sewn.

Never would he had considered his uncle's passing a possibility in this world filled with impossibilities. Lifting his head he can only close his eyes to try and ease the pounding of his head as the subtle breeze brings the scent of the garden to his nose.

Earthly and floral. It's the only thing that can seem to quiet the never ending thoughts within his head. He knows he's leaving soon. It only took a word from Madara and soon enough he'll be away from this garden he looked to for solace. Exhaustion would continue to coat his being, and his mind would remained muddled by the uncertainty of what the future holds deep within the scrolls besides him.

His village needs him to command. They all needed to look upon their leader, and see him walk away from another loss. They needed to see him stand firm and proud. He needed to be what they looked to in times of sorrow, and pain— _he must be the one that does it all because that is the role he is meant to play as an heir_.

There would be no time of weakness for him. Weakness only brings fear to those that looked to him to guide, and bring them the peace look for in the horizon.

He could not fail them anymore than he had. That Senju had gotten the better of him. That battle had been lost because he had allowed the Senju to plant that consistently growing doubt— _was he good enough?_

Desperately. Unmistakably.  
He _wants_ to be. He _has_ to be.

Was he good enough to _lead_ their armies should Madara fall? Was he good enough to have _her_ stand beside him through the hardships of war? Could he stand firm and _not fall_?

It's under the waves he's sure he's sinking like a stone. This quake within his being only seeks to plunge him deeper within the waters that rippled with his lack of conviction. That Senju's hands had dragged him down with no remorse. His will has been questioned, and he does not know how to answer. What could he answer when this is where he sits unprepared to brief his men—unprepared to inform them of the changes that would be coming.

 _Unprepared to explain the unknown_.

There would be no more peace talks. There would be no more playing with ideals.

Madara sought to eradicate the Senju from the earth. Madara sought to paint upon the land with the blood of Uzumaki. There would be not turning back with Izuna gone from his side.

 _Where they go from here is unclear with such convictions_.

His leader had lost just as much as he had—he had lost his last sibling and his father had only joined days later. Their losses sustained during those times had been great, and those that chose to defect only continue to grow. He's not alone, and yet he is. He's never been more alone than in this moment, because Madara has never been close with him. Madara only saw him as a chess piece upon the board.

 _This fear in his head would not subside_ — _it's as if he's battling against the tide_.

Ebony drag themselves across the rolled up scrolls once more. Swallowing thickly he knows already what lies deep within. He just has to make the moves necessary.

He's truly reaping what he's sown.  
The fear he feels is pungent within the air.

 _Could he be the leader they needed now when it was clear they needed him more than ever_?  
 _Could he be the_ —

That man. That Senju. He was deep inside his head. He was rearranging all he could touch. This man had struck him deeper than his blade could possibly reach. Here he sat concerned with his birthright, and now just as strongly he sat here knee deep side-by-side the spring nymph who had fallen beyond his reach once upon at time.

 _I will take her back_.

She was here in his home, and yet he could not find a way to reach for her. He could not find how she had managed to pull herself from a place filled with such petulance and desperation. He feels crushed beneath it all— _he was required to bring forth an heir_.

Madara's demands were clear.

It's passing down the _bloodline_.  
Because it's his _birthright_.

How had his wife possessed so much _strength_ that night?  
How had she made her way back to his side with her _heart upon her sleeve_?

 _His wife was not a weak woman—_ he was a weak man _._

An heir was no longer a thought to dismiss. His bloodline would end with him if he did nothing. The Uchiha leader would no longer listen to his demands to remain outside of the world of infidelity. His order was clear, and the punishment far more severe.

Far more than what it had been at the funeral when he had lashed out in defense of his wife.  
 _So much more severe_.

He's not against an heir—but he wants it to be not from politics and demands.  
He wants it to be from the _heart_.

He wants it to be from _her.  
_ He wants it to be from this woman with _glowing_ viridian eyes, and _seemingly endless_ pale-rose colored hair _._

He had wanted to know the secrets that lay within her heart. She had told him clearly what she had wanted when she expressed her love so openly to him among the financial books and across the table. Had he ever expressed what he wanted? Did he even know what he sought?

This want of his—is it not because this is love? He had lost the knowledge of such things long ago. He had trapped himself behind large walls made of thick stone. He had wrapped himself within protection and security in order to keep him from feeling such loss again. His brother had left him alone and alone he had made sure to keep himself.

 _He couldn't feel loss if there was nothing to lose_.

Yet, here he is seriously considering— _seriously thinking of what lies beyond_. Here he sits—the _irony_ of it all—daring to think of what he wants. When has he ever expressed such a thing? When had he not just followed the commands from above? When was the last time he openly told her what he wanted? When had he openly given his thoughts?

When was the last time he had put such _care_ into them?

The swallow he makes is thick and stops in the middle of his throat. If he disobeyed. If he was selfish as he always was—if he dared to bring forth a child from this ethereal woman—would they be accepted?

Would they be _slaughtered_?  
Would he _watch_ as his leader ended its life?

 _She deserves. . .better!_

She deserves a husband who is not bound by his bloodline. She deserves a husband who does not bring her through the chaos. She deserves a husband who does not sit deep within their home, cowering before her and all that resides outside of his walls.

He can't let that happen regardless of _his wants_.  
He couldn't watch a child made of _her love_ be taken from her like that.

His mother could no longer be his protection, and now he would be the one who would destroy the still mending foundation of his marriage. Would his wife understand where he sat? Would his mother become distraught that she is unable to continue her protection?

Nausea fills his throat and it overwhelms—it _burns_ as guilt does his conscience. Light floods his eyes as he dares to open them. The thud within his head never wavering as he brings himself to his feet and away from this place meant to give him peace—it's done the exact opposite. It encases him in that world of spring she hails from. He wants to run and he wants to hide. He wants to be the twenty year old he was meant to be and not the next heir to a clan.

He wants to be the man that she deserves. He wants to be the man that his people see.  
 _He wants a child with his wife_ —not a child with a distant relation to please the masses.

His leader is going blind. It will be him who stands upon the throne.  
 _With a wife—who deserved so much better than a man tied by blood_.

Ebony eye the door his fingers have yet to pull upon—this is where he runs within the dark. Desperate, and crawling for a place to find peace from the responsibilities that lay out before him.

Heart _thundering_.  
Palms _sweaty_.  
Tears _threatening_.

Fingers pull and the door slides with a crack as he goes where any child should be able to when the world has settled it's inescapable pressure upon their shoulders. Crushed beneath the weight, and knees sliding deeper within his own insecurities. There's no telling if the thunder within him is the heart or his head. He's struggling to maintain balance against the tides of his darkest fears.

It's a form of madness _misunderstood_. It's a _panic_ that cannot be describe.

Their pictures sit before him upon this shrine meant to give them prayer beyond his grasp. He's come to them every morning he's awoken since they've passed. He's prayed to them within the camps. He's whispered to them on the battlefields. He's apologized more times than he could count for not being the prodigy their first born was. He's apologized more times than he could count for every day they don't stand be side him. He's apologized over and over with no end in sight.

This is the thing he dares to want— _dares to dream_.

He wants a child from this woman because she has stood firm against him and all that's come her way. She is a woman had gazed upon those walls he had carefully built. This woman had planted the seeds with care, watered them daily for two years, and nurtured them until they scaled the height of these stone walls.

That's what scares him. This woman scares him far more than any Senju or Uzumaki could.  
She's dared to plant the idea that he could actually have something— _want something_.

The waters pour down, and he knows he'll have to apologize to them for the fear he should never have allowed to overtake him

 _You will never—no matter what you do—be good enough for her.  
_ She's made him dream for something— _made him want more than just peace_.

He's kneeling before them, fingers twisted upon his knees. He's lost his strength of will as his lip gives way to a tremble and his brows come to pinch within their frustration and their anger.

Who was this man to say those things? What did he know of him? He had done all he could in the name of war. He had done it all with hopes of a future where the children of his clan did not have to come run to their parents memorials for guidance.

He is doing it all for an unknown future that whispers of children with _her_.  
 _Remember you reap what you sow_.

He's sinking deeper. Endlessly. Unable to find air. Unable to discern rights and wrongs. He let this man inside his head. He's shot down the walls his wife had carefully scaled, leaving them brittle and broken.

 _He's opened the gates to the foundation that is his marriage_.

He's lost his resolution and now hope too was slipping from trembling fingers. This otherworldly woman was home. He wants nothing more than to seek her out and the escape she provides. He wants his foundations stronger. He wants their travels unquestioned. He wants her upon the throne. He wants her to give him a child.

 _You will ruin her. You will dirty her. You will defile her._

He's left alone in this darkness as he gives in against the tides of all that seeks to flood his world, and bring him down from upon his place as heir. There's no confidence as his grinds his teeth in an effort to keep the sound at bay that threatens to leave his mouth.

"Why have they forsaken me?" his voice is a tremble as he stands before these two no longer there to help pick him up.

The tremor of his shoulders comes as the air stops within his throat. Sasuke Uchiha cannot let out such a sound in his home. This son cannot let himself fall before them both—he cannot fall before his father, and his mother. This heir needs the discipline, and the strictness that he's been taught. The power to keep it all held in his but a thread before them both—he needs to do _at least_ this for them.

He's already _shamed_ himself so deeply before them.

The blur of his vision comes and goes. It's here and now he's finally taking a moment to let out a shudder of a breath that sends his ebony to fall upon his father. Lungs fill with the much needed air—he'd forgotten how to breathe—forgotten to keep his voice from escaping.

Those darkened depths are beckoning him further still. When all those prayers he prayed feel lost like tears in the rain. The shake of his iris comes as he stares upon the mats below. There's no missing the way the drops fall darkening them in this dishonor. He's embarrassed them all.

He's left to fight _alone_.

He's nothing more than the Senju said.  
 _A coward_.

He's petrified of his wife. He's afraid of his people. He's terror-stricken of his leader.  
He's terrified of all of them.

Is there a way to do right by _all of them_?  
Can he have this _dream_ and still be the man they _need_ him to be?

Under these waves he's falling so endlessly. He's sown this weaved plight.  
It's that firm grip upon his shoulder. He's lost far below the ground and hope has long since left his side.

 _He has no hope to maintain_.  
 _The end has finally begun_.

Fingers tighten their hold upon his shoulder before disappearing to slide around his front. The squeeze is tight and there's her breath upon his ear. This sorrow weighs upon his shoulders openly for her to see. This fear can no longer hide from her.

Everything he had sought to keep within his hands has slipped through and gone where he cannot.

He's has been knee deep for so long— _he's had been overtaken_.

The sun is eclipsed by the moon. The ending that he knew would come has finally begun.

Arms twist around him and it's as he still cannot bring himself to reach out for her that she gives him no choice. She'll bring him from this world of torment he's encased himself in. She is ethereal with all that she does and has become the hope that lies deep within the spring. She won't leave him alone with his trepidation.

There's no missing the way her fingers ghost across him in affectionate comfort. The gentle squeezes and the brush of her cheek against his own. Another firm grip as she's sought out one of his hand white within their squeeze upon his knees.

He cannot breath—he cannot find the oxygen he needs to live.  
He told her he would never leave her alone. If he does not let out this sound he will have failed her completely, entirely, and unforgivably.

The throw of his head back upon her shoulder comes and the scream he lets out is the highest of wails as he lets the sobs take control of him in heavyhearted anguish. The press of her fingers comes upon his chest, and the fingers that have dug their way into his tightened fists give but another squeeze.

She intends to hold him together when he cannot do it for himself. She'll keep him whole where he seeks to break under it all. The quake of his chest comes, and it's here he wonders when the last time he cried was.

He needs this woman far more than she needs him.  
It's clear before him and obvious to see.  
 _He's sorry he's reaped what he's sewn_.

He's sorry for all the pain he's brought within the world upon those shoulders so small and petite. He's sorry for his shamelessness in needing her comfort when he should be standing tall with nothing to fear. He's sorry for all the things he's neglected over the years.

He's sorry he ever thought her weak when he has always been so much weaker.  
 _This woman was strong_. _His wife was strong_.

Those impossibly soft fingers have trailed his arm as she continues to press him against her still. They linger further up as if one wrong move will have him running from her side. They continue their ghosting across his neck, and patiently come to cover his eyes removing the ceiling from their strained and tear-filled sight.

Lashes flutter down feeling her palm where she keeps it. His breathing, erratic and choked, is slowing and it's as if all he's needed is to be shielded from all that is before him.

"I will wait for you. I do so gladly." her voice is just a whisper in his ear.

It's calming, and it's bringing down his heart that dares to burst just beneath her fingers. He knows what she entails and he knows the meaning behind those words she's let fall between them. It's all he needs to coax him forward to take her hand and finally reach for her as he knows he should have already.

The Uchiha.

 _They love far deeper than anyone else_.

 _Nor do I know what it is you truly feel for her—only you can answer such things_.

He can answer those things—they're not the answer his leader _demands_.

 _It's the answer he wants_.

Calm has come over him as he sits upon the futon. She's pulled him from before his parents, and she's taken him within their bedroom. She's taken care of cleaning his face and changing him to gain the sleep his body needs. Not once does she ask what had finally been too much. Not once does she ask for him to tell her the things that had finally overwhelmed him and dragged him down beneath the surface.

He's followed every move she's made. Cautious so as not to bring him more suffering—he remembers when he had done the same. He had wanted to braid those pale rose colored strands back then, and he still had yet to learn. There's no doubt though that he's learned more as they continued to travel through gravel and stone. She had given him something belonging to her father—she had said it herself she hoped to protect him.

There's wonder if she had found the scrolls and read the contents inside. There's desire to know what runs through her head in this moment as she slides beneath the comforter to sit beside him. Those fingers press against his shoulder blade. She's creating a closeness for him and him alone— _she's not giving this to anyone else_.

This otherworldly spring nymph continues to try and sooth him patiently waiting for his next move. Oxygen fills his lungs, and it's the smallest of pushes to speak to her since falling to pieces before her, "I leave in two days."

"I see." she's letting out a hum between them and it holds understanding, and the subtle touch of longing.

She thinks he is before her still out of reach, and she thinks he sits before her shattered. It's as if she does not realize she had retrieved him from the depths of his petulance, and desperation already.

It will be him who stands upon the throne.  
 _With a wife who stands beside him as if it's her birthright_.

The Uchiha.  
 _They loved deeper than anyone else_.  
 _She loved him deeper than anyone else_.

Reaching out those seemingly endless strands call out to him. He's taking them within his fingers.

Madara's demands were clear.

 _It's passing down the bloodline_.  
Because it's his _birthright_.

This man demanded an heir.  
 _He would give him his heir_.  
 _She would be the one to produce this heir_.

She is an otherworldly being of healing. A nymph of spring. She will be the life, and love his people talk about for years to come.

 _She is an Uchiha.  
It's her birthright._

He can't continue to be afraid of this man. He can't continue to coward before his people. He will protect a child brought from the heart. He will be selfish and dream of this. He will be selfish and want for this. He wants a child, and he wants it with her.

He'll become the husband she deserves. He'll become the man who will lead his people forward.

Sasuke Uchiha will move forward—because that is what she's taught him to do.

 _That is what she has always done—with a smile on her face, and her heart upon her sleeve._

Leaning in he feels her still for the briefest of moments—it's a second in time—before he's brought his mouth upon her own. It's that part of her lips that has him allowing himself to try more. Roughened fingertips release the strands so coaxing before taking hold of her shoulder. Hesitance rings within every movement he makes. There's an unknown to it all. There's uncertainty behind these movements.

 _He's never dabbled in such things before_.

Pulling gently upon her shoulder has her following his lead to come closer. She's held him together long enough today—he longs to hold her instead. Those legs come slowly across his lap, and those hands of hers are so small, just as everything about her seemed to be, have made their way into his hair. The pitch within her breathing has increased, and there's something about those viridian glowing down upon him that has him capturing her mouth once more. Fingers tug upon the sleeping robe in hopes to feel that skin beneath.

That scent of hers, floral and intoxicating, is leading him, and it's this look upon her face that has his insides heating. His body feels warm and it's caused by her. Those half lidded eyes—there's nothing childlike about this expression. There's nothing demure about it. There's nothing innocent in those viridian in this second. Nothing of what's displayed across her features is a look he's seen before. He wants to see more of it.

She's displayed before him with that robe slumped upon her arms. It's that skin, soft and inviting, beneath his fingers as he dares to press them against her hips that's making him bolder—surer. Pressing his forehead to hers and then another moment where he takes another kiss. It's gentle at first, and rougher in the next. Those arms that once wrapped around his neck hours just before encircle around his neck trailing upon his shoulder blades as the smallest of noises leaves her lips. The mixing of their breath only seeks to heighten their already steadily increasing pants for air. There's this need to press her harder against him that increases the more he sees those eyes of hers half lidded, and the reddening tint across her cheeks. Squeezing her hips has another sound coming from her before he pushes her down upon him. The need to rub against her is instant and the satisfaction it brings has a rasp falling from him. She's moving quicker and becoming less patient as she's getting lost within this closeness he's taken control of. There's something absolutely erotic about the way she's quick to reach for his own robe.

It pools behind him as he slides his arms out from it. There's a desperation to his movements as his fingers slide within her underwear and begins to slide them down. A brush of kisses makes their movements seem far more difficult, but she's removed what she's sought. His hands make their way up taking in the feel of her before sliding back down to continue removing her underwear.

The urgency is there when she breathes out his name. He wants to know what he has to do to get her to say it again. He wants to hear it repeatedly. He wants to hear more fall from her, for him. Curling his fingers inside her, and pumping into her with nonexistent remorse is the answer to that.

Her hips move and seek to match this pace he's set completely. He's overwhelmed by the sounds that never seem to stop pouring from her. There's a need to kiss her more, but no desire to lessen these soft sounds, and heightened moans. Warm and wet is the only words he can think to describe how she feels. That soft skin is turning dewy and it only makes the heat he feels throughout himself burn hotter.

Arched back. Breasts out. Voice echoing against _their_ bedroom walls.

Her voice pants out his name as she tries in vain to recover from this high he's brought her to. Visually, she was as ethereal as ever. Those pale rose colored strands are tangled and sticking to her skin. That floral scent is all he can smell—that scent is encasing him as it always has—yet it's brought forth an entirely different sensation.

He wants more. He wants to feel her. He wants to claim her in these moments.  
She is his wife, and he is her husband.

She is his and he is hers.

Those strands that dare to cling to her are grasped within his fingers and it's clear he seeks to claim her whole. It's no more than a few seconds before he's pulled her down upon him—he's thrust unforgivably—without so much as a pause. She's taken him with a sharp cry panting as he pushes in and out forcefully.

Warm and wet. Warm and wet. All of this is warm and wet.

It's hard to keep himself together. It's hard to not be completely bewitched by her voice. It's hard to not be completely robbed of control with those lids closed, and that mouth open and letting out the whimpers she gives out with each thrust. It's hard to not lose himself the moment she gasps out his name.

She's immersed him completely with all of these things she's showing him for the first time. These looks make him question if he's drowning once more, but for an entirely different reason.

The release comes rushing forth—it was that voice of hers whispering against his ear that's made him lose it all, "Sasuke-kun. _Please._ "

He feels himself empty inside her at those breathless and exhausted words. He twitches as he spills into her and rides it out coming down from his urgent pace to a slow rock before stopping completely. He feels unable to look away as he gazed up at her with viridian eyes glowing helplessly in adoration at him. His breathing still heightened but slowly falling back down to earth.

He releases her hips but only long enough to wrap his arms around that petite neck of hers. The press of her cheek against his shoulder allows him to feel her own breath coming back down alongside his own. The press of her fingers against his back is an entirely new comfort.

Shifting her slowly he's settling her down. Tugging upon the comforter discarded in their actions brings them nestled within it. Once again he's wrapping his arms around her and pressing her against him.

"I'll come home. I'll—" he's lost his words unsure of what more he needs to say to provide her with reassurance that he'll be okay once more.

"And I will welcome you home." her voice is but a hum laced in exhaustion, and on the edge of sleep.

It's one more deep inhale of that floral scent he's come to love, and a press of his lips upon her hair before his lids fall and he finds himself within the comfort of sleep.

 _Finally_.

* * *

That tickle upon her neck is what has her shifting. Her body feels heavy and her legs even heavier. The muscles ache, and the soreness is foreign. The attempt to shift her hand has her registering a lighter weight upon her own and lifting her lids to take focus of what's prevented her. That hand is large and the pads of his fingers are rough. They're so different when compared to the small slender ones she's been born with. That palm and those roughened pads had touched every part of her. They had ghosted across sticky skin and gripped her so firmly the night before. Now one lays upon her own so relaxed and without tension.

There had been no warning—there had been no foreseeing the night before.  
She had found him so broken and torn. Shattered and without self-remorse.

He had crumbled under the weight of his losses.  
He had lost his uncle, and the loss of his grandfather had come right behind it so unexpectedly.

These days had been long. They had been riddled with pain and riddled with unspoken anguish.  
That wail he had given way too caused her heart terror and fear of what was to become of him.

Never would she want to see him like that.  
Never would she have wanted to see him _so lost_ and _unsure of where to go_.

Her fingers make their way to his. There's no tight squeeze upon this hand so worn. There is just the desire to comfort him even now. That even breathing gives her hope his mind has settled. Those bags deep under his eyes perhaps lessened instead of continuing their growth.

There's a fear of what comes when he awakens. Will he regret what they have done? That fear is sprouting and that fear makes her wonder if she had taken advantage of him in such a state. They were husband and wife—these things were normal.

Yet, not once had she ever thought he would look at her in such a way—find comfort in her in such a way.  
This man so broken and torn had sought her out as a woman. She'd consent again and again.

Yet, that doesn't lessen the fear of what reaction he'll have soon enough.

She needs to find faith that this is in fact what he intended—but she doesn't know what lingers inside his thoughts. She still wont dare to ask.

 _Would it be better if she left his side before he wakes?_

Or would it anger him and feel as though she is rejecting the closeness he created last night?  
She doesn't want to cause him more grief. She doesn't want to hurt him unknowingly.

— _but she doesn't know what the right answer is_.

His hand is so much larger than her own in this weak hold she has upon it. That breath of his is calming and that deep inhale of his scent so much louder with them tucked so close together.

All of these things are soothing—and yet it doesn't stop her own mind from wondering what she can provide more of. What can she do to keep him falling into such a state again?

The twitch of his hand has her breath caught within her throat, and then those fingers of his slide from her own and the panic is loud within her heart. He's waking—and she hasn't decided upon an answer still. She needs more time. She needs him to sleep longer. She needs him to give her more time to decide what she needs to do next.

He's not giving her that time though as his hand slides over her arm almost comfortingly before gripping her upper arm and providing the lightest of squeezes. He's pulling her closer and he's sliding his arm over her collarbone.

His lips are so much closer to her neck and the warmth of her cheeks has her far more awake, "Sasuke-kun?" She dares a whisper in hopes he's actually still asleep.

"A little longer." The feel of his nose within her hair follows that sleep ridden voice of his.

They've already done so much, and yet this is what makes her feel shy. This gentleness he's giving while half awake. This unusual and blatant affection—is this what had lied beyond the walls of his heart she had hoped to find herself within?

The slide of her hand across the futon comes and finds its way upon his arm wrapped so snug against her. He hardly ever asks for much. He hardly ever gives way to his wants. He's asked her for something once more and she will give it to him gladly. The panic she had felt at him stirring to life had disappeared and vanished within that little request.

He wants to lay here longer with her. He wants to stay within the sheets finding comfort in her.  
It's not just as a woman—but as his wife.

She had not taken advantage of him in his grief and loss—he had willingly come to her.  
He had reached out and brought them closer than she would have ever dared try alone.

He had made this joining of two deeper.  
This was a marriage. She was his wife.  
— _and he was her husband_.

The press of her head against the pillow is deeper as she inhales a deep breath feeling so content within this morning. How many days had passed since their mornings had not been painted with sorrow?

There is no way for her to replace those he's lost. She cannot bring them back to him.  
She can though stand beside him and help mend him back together.

Slowly but surely there will be happier times ahead.  
The distance is unknown and the time unfathomable.

 _She'll travel to the ends of the earth for it if she has to_.

It will come to them both, and she will do so holding his hand and walking firmly beside him. He has given her so much comfort in her title of wife. A comfort she did not know possible when she had first laid her eyes upon him.

The dip back into sleep is quickly interrupted as the voice of her handmaid calls lightly through the door. The squeeze upon her tightens as if to keep her from responding and then it lessens just moments later. The slide of his skin against her own comes as he releases her. That warmth he had provided suddenly gone and in its place is the coolest of air. Pushing up upon her forearm has her twisting upon her stomach from her side to look up, and it's only moments later as he speaks with the maid that her attention is gained by the sound of wings just out the doors leading to his beloved garden.

Soft in rising she pulls upon the comforter holding it firmly against her unclothed form. The pull upon the doors leading to the engawa are equally as soft as she walks forward. Leg muscles give off a wave of ache but that doesn't stop her from walking forward and out of their bedroom.

"Sakura?" Her husband's voice is behind her and high in pitch making it clear he's questioning what she's doing.

Raising her arm the animal she had heard comes down. Brown with sharp eyes, and talons strong it sits awaiting for her to take the scroll from around its neck. There's something deep within her heart—she can't place this feeling. She doesn't know if it's a sense of foreboding or perhaps something lighter.

She doesn't have to shift much to release the scroll from around his neck. The whisper of gratitude comes out and then and the slow motion of her arm lowering before raising up has the hawk taking off and expanding their wings. Fingers fiddle with the flap and it's as she unrolls it that her eyes fall upon the written text. This where she decides perhaps it wasn't such a foreboding feeling.

"Sakura." He's come to stand at the doorway.

The smallest of hums falls, "It's nothing to worry about Sasuke-kun."

She's been summoned to join him on the battlefield and lead their medics. Whatever is to come—whatever sat within the scrolls her husband had received before her own now has reached her as well.

Sakura Uchiha would no longer be forced to sit within camps or deep within their home.  
She would be traveling beside him. She would be there to walk him home.

 _She wouldn't have to wait this time_.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **IMPORTANT ANNOUCEMENT** —I will be writing an exclusive one-shot for The Uchiha's Wife for the Connected: SasuSaku Fanzine! This one-shot will never be posted online and can only be obtained and read if you purchase the fanzine. You can find more details about the fanzine over on tumblr under the username thesasusakufanzine!

IT'S YA BOI. OMBREE. COMING AT YOU WITH THIS OVER HYPED ASS CHAPTER. Seriously this was one seriously over hyped ass chapter—I'm also to blame for that so I mean shiiiiit—but regardless, it's here. It done did. It done appeared. I probably rewrote this chapter four times. Seriously. Thinking about all the ways this was re-visioned and rewrote seriously hurts my goddamn head, but oh my god was it worth it. _It was so fucking worth it_. Sasuke was developed in so many different ways in each attempt. At one point this boy was doing it out of possession. At one point it was all about the clan. At one point none of this shit was even a thing. I wrote the smut portion of this back when the master file was only 20 pages and now here we are 120+ pages later. The whys, the hows, the literal reason has completely changed into something completely different. I originally had the smut portion during their first year of marriage after a mission right after Hatsumode. I wanted just the _right feel_ , and the _right emotion_ behind all of this. This was a boy becoming a man. This was a man deciding what he wanted. This is such a innocent kind of selfishness, in my opinion. Sasuke has developed so much till this point and to finally get to a moment where he's reaching out for something he wants and not just because he's ordered to do so was such an uplifting moment even if I had to break his ass down to get there. I am unbelievably happy with this chapter. So ridiculously proud at that.

That being said though honestly even with how proud I am of this chapter there's definitely some fear in posting it. This chapter was so hyped up that there was definitely a point where I admitted to a friend I don't see it being satisfying you guys. The thing though is like this is their first time. This is this man's first time and you best believe he sure as fuck aint about to be no senpai in the sheets. _Like ya'll have this thing with writing him like he a stallion out the gate_. I am not about that laifu. Like my dude. First time smut fic literally make me cringe sometimes. Ya'll have no clue how much reading fanfiction smut fucked with me growing up. Like for real. That shit like-that whole "it's her first time lemme just sit here with my dick in her" thing and then we got people having the dude be like "You gucci girl? You ready to rock them waves?" literally drives me insane. Like listen. I'm not saying there isn't a dude out there like that, but holy fuck they are few far and in between. Don't play me with that noise. I have never met a dude who didn't go for it out the gate. I've slept since my first time for many years now and that's just not how that works and goes down. Don't even get me started on the whole coming simultaneously thing either-like fuck I could talk about that for hours and realistically neither you nor I got any time for that. Shit. Fucking. Blows. My. Goddamn. Mind. wedidn'tevendiscussthathoursandhoursofsexshityalldoandthat'sfuckingridiculoustooifwe'rebeinghonest.

Anyways—I do genuinely hope you guys enjoyed it. I hope it was worth the wait, and worth your time. If it wasn't that's gucci too and I'll take the shots fired down upon me, but at the end of the day I really just needed this to be wholesome and for the right reasons, and not just Sasuke getting his masculine pride stroked.

Also #metalgearsolidalertnoise that heir to the clan thing poppin once more-now for reviews.

 **Guest Reviews**

 **Guest, that said it was unexpected** \- That's where I get ya'll with them twists no one sees coming that's slightly hinted upon hehe  
 **Mejima** \- Thank you for reading and reviewing my dude. I'm glad to be able to continue it~  
 **Guest, who asked if their was smex soon** \- ask you shall receive #eyebrowwiggle  
 **Masami Aomame** \- You've disabled messaging so I'll respond here. Oh my dude jdalskjdslka thank you so much. I'm so glad I can write something that'll do that for you. It's honestly super flattering that you created an account just to follow my story. I think the thing is another reviewer worded it in a previous chapter was that I write this very aged. I definitely think while unintended it's the mood I always seem to create with this particular work. It's so cool honestly to hear that I've created something unexpected for you. I hope you continue to enjoy it as we continue forward.  
 **Guest, who said I put a lot of weight upon their heart** \- Oh my dude so glad to hear that as weird as that might sound. I'm bringing out them emotions and that's the best part.  
 **Guest, who reviewed as they read through the fic** \- Oh my god you're an adorable cinnamon roll my dude ajsdkljsaldja  
 **Guest, who couldn't wait for the smut** \- #insertlennyface  
 **Guest, who brought up the original plotline of Saku being abducted** \- Brahhhhh where's the goddamn lie?  
 **Guest, who asked if there would be SS lovin** \- Yisss.  
 **Guest, who said my fic was their fav** \- Thank you so much sadlksadklsa  
 **Guest, who told me to keep on keeping on** \- omfgmydude thatissocute jesus christ  
 **Yumi** \- Thank you my dude!  
 **Bleach Power** \- I can neither confirm nor deny on Itachi.  
 **Wag, my schmall pale girl ratchet twiiiin** \- Homie, my dude, my motherfuckin ggggggggggg what's shakin my bacon? JDSAJDSLAKJDLSA LOOK AT YOU DROPPIN THE COMPLIMENTS FOR MY WEEB ASS SHIT. I haven't read lord of the flies but I've marked it on the list no worries. Gotchu my dude. I always love a good rec. Oh dude. GO FORTH. WRITE IT. DO IT. BRING FORTH THE CONTENT. I love some fresh new content from fresh new people. Like my dude. I'd love to see what you got cookin in the oven. Haha I'm glad you diggin my authors notes. I'm a lot of extra but I mean at least I'm honest with myself kek. IHOPEICANKEEPYOUBLISSFULLYBLINDFOLDED. #2018GOALSET. Peace out homie g ratchet twiiiin fucking literally loved your review. Shit had me pumped and excited like fo reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal. Please review again this was fucking bombdiggity.

Ombree is out my dudes~


	18. The Land

x.x.x  
 **Chapter 18**  
The Land

* * *

The march of his men is fluid and in rhythm. There's no hesitation to their steps. This military symmetry is practiced and done without thought. Those before him are willing to stake their lives on this battle. These are the ones willing to come when he calls, and await the time when they can be of use. They will take back Otogakure.

They will do as their leader orders.  
 _They will slaughter the Senju and Uzumaki that dare to stand before them_.

The deepest of inhales fills his lungs as he steadies his nerves and prepares to brief those before him. A hum falls from him, unheard, as he clears his throat to rid himself of the anxiety. That anxiety had vanished in the morning. Then it had returned as the maids adorned him for battle. An inhale follows it giving him the strength to stand just as firm as those before him. He cannot let his voice waver. He cannot allow them to witness even the smallest amount of hesitation within him. This is where they would need him to be the commander they had placed their hopes upon, and that is what he would give them. He would not fail them when they needed him most. He would not give them any reason to doubt.

 _He would be the rightful heir he was meant to be_ —  
Yet, his hands have the subtlest of _trembles_.

"Do you think we are condemned to hell? Looking for hope—I know it can be hard to see. We've tried so hard but can we truly not save us from ourselves? Destined to die from the moment of our birth. . . _do not forget everything you are worth_."

The press of his fingers digs into his palms as he lets his voice fill the shrine. There's no missing that flicker of emotion upon their faces—anger, pride, loss, and so much more. It's quick, and washed off moments later locked behind years of training—but it doesn't lessen the fact it was _there_. He needs to raise their spirits, and wash away their fears. Building them up, and leading them forward. That's why he exists.

 _He will remind them why it is they fight_.

"It's obvious the future isn't what we thought it would be. We may be born of the dust, and one day we will return—but we won't leave until this new will is _done_."

They respond with a call. His hand raises and with a fluid motion he points to them. There is no need to remind them—remind them of the losses they've sustained, but he does. He does remind them of the loved ones no longer standing beside them. They are just as important. Even if those before him know this it is his duty to make sure they are thought of in times when those still alive need strength.

Their voices escalate in response as they call out to him once more.

 _He makes sure that he reminds them that they are the Uchiha Clan, and there is no other clan that carries pride in the way they do_.

"We are the young—we are the generation able in body and mind—so rise up from the ground because no more dreams will be lost in time. No more lives will be lost without stride. _Our voices will be unified_."

Their voices resonate in unison—loud, and singular to make it clear they've heard him.

He will give them the _strength_ to look forward.  
He will raise their _hearts_ before they walk upon the gates of hell.

The brief movement of pale pink and bodies that follow behind catch his attention. None of those who had answered him dare a glance as the newly entered take their places. They hold their gaze strong upon him and only him. Steps strong, but slow in stride take her up the steps to him. The brush of her fingers dances upon his own tickling the skin. Grasping his hand almost gingerly she raises them above their heads. She's taking the throne here and now. His wife is staking her claim, and her title. He doesn't need to look at her to know there is a confidence that wasn't present before today. This woman truly knew her place, and it's the voices that erupt at this display that make it clear they, too, know of her place beside him.

There was no question from _her_.  
There is no question from _them_.  
There is no question from _him_.

She was— _no, she is_ —an Uchiha.

The squeeze upon his fingers as she leads their hands back to their sides coaxes him to gaze upon her. She looks prepared to travel. There's hesitation, and then those viridian make their way to him, " _He_ has summoned me to lead your medics into battle."

The air lingers at the base of his throat unwilling to travel down within his lungs. The grip he has upon her hand tightens instinctively as his jaw tightens and his teeth grind together. He knows he cannot over turn this decision. This was a direct command. This was one thing beyond his current power—he was not the head of their clan _just yet_.

It's her thumb rubbing against his own in slow soft circular movements that allows the air to finally make its way to his lungs. The slow drop of her lids follows those coaxing movements. There's no need for words between them. Even if he did have the power to overturn it she would never agree. The softest of noises falls from her, "I _will_ welcome you home."

Reassurance lingers in those five little words, and it's all he needs to hear before he's leading them down the steps of the shrine. This shrine had been where they had wed, it had been where she came to pray with the children to give their offerings to Chang'e, it is where he had sought her out after his uncle had departed from this world, and now this shrine is where she reaffirmed that promise to welcome him home.

She had said just the same the night before. She had said it to ease him after they had shared a moment of husband and wife. They had basked in a morning with that same ease as she stayed nestled beside him. She had granted him comfort after he had made it clear she wasn't just a title. No, she truly was _his wife_.

 _She says them now to grant him confidence—to grant him the strength to face his responsibilities.  
_ _She does this for him after he has done the same for his men._

The march of his men has resumed as they set out for Otogakure, and beyond their gates. She lingers behind among the medics that follow. Their steps are the only thing that haunts the air was they head for their destination. They how the strength, and the will to complete this mission. They'll meet with others in the days to come, and then with their leader they will take back Otogakure.

 _No prisoners_.  
They will stand victorious.

* * *

They have marched for days, and they have met with familiar faces. Those close and those distant in relation have come to aid the leading Uchiha. Their steps never falter. Their exhaustion is never seen. It's hidden behind stone faces. Locked away by the years of battle they've endured. The tension has continued to grow as their numbers build—Uchiha, and Hyuuga alike. Those rhythmic steps only seem to make the world around them grow darker even when the sun has them sweating. The gravity is almost too much to bear as they march behind the Uchiha leader.

They don't even take the time to do more than realign. She's following suit no matter the disquietude that tugs upon her conscious. This nervosity— _is this what those bathed in war have learned to overcome_?

It's as they stand face to face with the Senju, and Uzumaki days later that she feels the way her nervosity becomes heavier pressing her against the Earth's terrain. This would be where she was tested. Her husband stands behind their leader among the most trusted. Glancing among them all it's become clear that Shisui has stayed back from the frontlines. He won't be here to watch over her when her husband and her separate upon the battlefield. Viridian don't miss the blonde standing just across the way among the enemy, either.

He fought on the side of the Senju,  
 _Naruto Uzumaki_.

The tension in the air is enough to suffocate them all. It will only take the call of the leaders before them to have them at each others throats.

"Madara. We do not have to do this. Izuna has—"

"Hashirama you would do well to hold your tongue." the way Madara hisses sends them all stilling.

The balance is _tipping_.  
The scales are _changing_.

"Is there no way to settle this peacefully?" the tone in which this Senju leader asks for peace resonates in a plea.

"Bring me Tobirama's head." there is no amount of forgiveness to be found in this request.

This request is cruel, and it's here and now that she realizes she's made a grave mistake. Her husband had filled his men with strength, and she had sought to make sure she stood beside him properly when he had.

This wasn't war— _this was about to become a slaughter_.

This fight was revenge cloaked as a battle meant to end a war.  
It was a personal fight between two powerful men— _It was nothing more than that_.

"I cannot give you his head—I will give my own." he speaks strongly and filled with resolve.

This offer hangs upon their shoulders as they wait to see if Madara will take the attempted peace offering.

It's only a second, and then a third. Her palms sweat within her gloves. They clench and unclench as if it will release her from the overwhelming anxiety brought by this two very powerful men. Almost scared to breath she swallows hard and feels the way the hair on the back of her neck stands up. This feeling is no different to when one has cold water poured upon them—there was never a reason to watch. Did anyone actually believe that Madara would take the offering? Madara had made his demands clear, and he would not negotiate his terms.

 _He would take nothing less._

The roll of Madara's head comes allowing him to gaze upon the sky. It's exhausting seeing these powerful men play this useless game. It's almost frightening watching two men play with the lives around them for the sake of their greed. Yes, there is only the wait for when the blood bath begins.

Her fingers tighten within a fist. The sound of leather stretching is loud within her ears. She watches the way this man moves, and then there's the way her heart drops at how he shifts. She doesn't need to be beside him to know he's loosened up his neck. That roll of his shoulders and that tilt of his head are entirely meant for removing the stiffness within his muscles.

Every subtle movement is a warning that it will only escalate from here. The way his arms fold across his chest and the way he stands so firm has her swallowing. The way in which he has made no attempt to respond, and left them all waiting—watching—for when the negotiating ends, and the battle begins sends an even greater nervosity through her being.

All of these things are so simple. So ordinary. So nonthreatening. So peace like.  
Yet, there was never any true desire for peace let alone negotiating.

Heart _stopped_.  
 _Mouth_ falling.  
 _He's gone in an instant_ —and back before she can even _question_ it.

This will become the new Diyu— _a new land of the dead_.

He's landed within the army and she barely has time to catch Hashirama going after him. The Senju are thrown as if they were but objects in his way—tossed aside and unimportant to one so powerful such as him. The way the earth shakes below her makes her head whip, completely unprepared, as they all rush in. Feet slam against the ground and shake the earth under the combined force. There's panic and all she can do is hope to catch a single glimpse of her husband before he's rushed forth and begun his own assault.

This is the world her husband lives within.

This is chaos.  
 _This. Is. War_.

The sound of her heart is only second to the scream that echoes out upon them. A kunai flies past her an almost fatal reminder to keep herself focused. Feet shuffle and she's pivoting as fast as she can to avoid the enemy's attempt at using her body to create rubble from the ground beneath her feet. The dirt disperses up and there's that moment of eye contact before she's flipping herself back and onto her hands.

 _If a medical ninja should die who would treat the injured?_

Strike after strike. It's only one Senju at first and then two. She's never been on the front lines. The sidelines had been her place before today. There's no time to take it all in. Evasion is her priority—if she should die so fast then why had she bothered to come? Her hands would heal their injured. Her personal feelings no longer mattered. They had called upon her to keep them moving, and moving she would keep them.

 _The medical ninja should never be hit by the enemies attacks_.

Fingers grip a hold of the fist meant to deliver a blow and it's only a moment later that she's swinging her leg and connecting it with the second enemy. She barely has time to think before she feels another right behind her—she'll be overwhelmed in no time. This isn't a simple sparing session with Tsunade.

No amount of practice could have prepared her for this moment.  
 _Sakura Uchiha was no longer upon the sidelines_.

Her voice is loud and it's only moments later she's throwing the unfortunate enemy forward and into the other. The twist of her hips comes and her fist is connecting with the ground opening it wide and shattering the playing field within her grasp. She's rising slowly and there's no mistake she's captured all of their attention with her outward display of strength. Brows pinch and finally her eyes find his.

Wide and holding that beautiful color of deep rich red—his sharingan has found her with this display even while locked into a battle with Naruto.  
None had been prepared for this show of strength—they had whispered of it and seen the aftermath.

 _They had yet to see it first hand_.  
To see him home _will_ be by her hand.

* * *

They're attacking each other— _yet, it's with the oddest of kid gloves_.  
It is almost as if he knows something is off about this particular stand off.

It's as if he _knows_ of what Madara had planned.

There's the careful way at which he is always lingering back. This man and him had fought so many times before now. May it be in some unspoken good sport, or with literal intent to end the other he couldn't decide here and now. Perhaps he didn't want to know.

They only stilled briefly to take in his wife's display of power upon the field before the blonde had taken off and sought to distance himself even further.

The faster he ends this and corners the blonde the faster he can return to her side. His leader had made the plan and intent clear. No matter what happens they are to take the beast that lays sealed within this man. If they can accomplish this, the war will be over.

Peace can be obtained.

 _All he has to do is kill him after it's all said and done_.  
And yet, he's not exactly doing what he knows he needs to.

Hearing his leader demand the head of the Senju leader's brother in payment for the loss of his own had held a malice that he had known Madara could possess, but not one he had seen. His leader was known for his power. Madara's very name held more control than his had ever obtained. That rawness, and that malicious intent had not been something even he was used too.

Izuna's death had affected him deeply.  
 _It had affect_ _ed_ _Madara even deeper._

His brother may not be dead— _he is just a traitor_ —but he understands.  
He knows how such loss can twist the way you view the world.

 _The way in which one views theirself_.

Izuna had kept a balance. He had maintained the way they ran things, and how a show of power was conducted. Without him there was nothing to maintain that. There was no limiter to keep Madara in check. Madara would not rest until he had felt his brother had been avenged—until the Senju had _paid dearly_.

He doesn't blame his leader.  
 _No_ —he can't blame him because he knows those malicious feelings all too well.

The difference lies in how he had kept his locked away and beyond the sight of others outside of a battle. He had never brought it before a meeting or within negotiations.

Losing all of his siblings. Losing his nephew to the opposing side.  
The death of his brother-in-law. The death of his father.

 _Madara had lost even more than he had_.

That's what pushes him to close the gap between him and Naruto. Following his leader, and his demands was what was expected. He had never truly questioned Madara before. There had never been a reason to hesitate. He knew the intent behind this man's actions—he wanted to give the Uchiha peace by any means necessary.

He didn't want anyone else to lose what he had lost.  
Every member was family even if not a direct link.

That's why _sacrifices_ had to be made. That's why _morals_ had to be cast aside.  
 _Some had to die if they were going to save all_.

Yet— _he is questioning things_. He's hesitant in how his leader has told them to kill everyone. There was no desire for prisoners. There was no need for spoils. Madara was seeking to completely extinguish the Senju, and Uzumaki.

Hesitation makes him miss when normally he would not. He had raised the morale of his men, and marched them to this point. Yet, every time he hears a scream there's that sinking within him. There's this thought that it's one of his. There's this wonder if he's simply marched them before the gates of hell.

 _He's lost inside_.

He has a feeling there's something more. Beyond the doubt, and beyond the sea of burning tears. He should have said more, told his men more, and made it clear how much their desire to fight beside him means to him. There's hope they understand. Hope that they know he would never intentionally walk them to their graves.

Never would he lead them to _Yomi-no-kuni_.  
 _Never would he spend their life so carelessly_ —so knowingly.

 _Yet, he had_ —and he had allowed his wife to give him confidence in doing so unknowingly.  
How could he not hear their screams and believe he had walked them within the land of the dead?

It's a clash of his sword upon a kunai, and they're going deeper within Otogakure. The deeper they go the further he is from his wife. The further they go the deeper into the city he becomes. All he has to do is release himself from his hesitance and he can stop the distance this creates.

Madara _had_ reason.  
Madara _was_ reason.

They're airborne and then deep into the trees. Had they planned to separate him from the larger forces? Were they luring him into a trap? Was this boy who had never dabbled in such tactics pulling him further along and into a mass awaiting him?

No— _it wouldn't work on him_.

That hesitation is cast aside as he uses force to send them upon the forest floor. It's a connection of fists, and then a spree of dodging. There's something odd lingering in those eyes staring back at him. He has yet to say a word this whole time. Was it because he was close to his wife?

The swing of his sword comes and the force makes it clear he's no longer willing to play within doubt. He would not harm her family, but he could not guarantee her friends. The mission before him would be done. Hurting his wife is the last thing he wants to do, but if it means giving the world rest from this war he would be willing to ask for forgiveness later.

There is no playful quips. No attempt at a spar. He's out to land blows with intent to harm, and Naruto is doing everything he can to escape them all. None of it makes sense. Any other time he would attempt to harm him back—he hasn't attempted a single blow.

Naruto Uzumaki is all defense.  
Patient, and keeping himself from getting too close.

Perhaps the blonde should have tried—if he had he wouldn't be pinned to that tree with a slam of his head against the bark.

There is an anger decorating his face, and within his eyes. The cause of such vexation is unknown. They've done this so many times before, and never once had he given him such a look. Any other time before now those eyes had always held a touch of amusement at these little matches.

Not this time.  
No—definitely not this time.

Foreboding.  
Those eyes make it clear something isn't normal.

 _This time make sure they're all dead—_

Something isn't right.

— _before you leave_.

Panic.  
It's beneath the surface and just under the nerves.  
Deep in the muscle, and strong within the tissue.

"Fight back." his voice is tighter than he'd like to show—this isn't how he wants to win.

The reply is instant, "No."

"Why aren't you fighting back?" a hiss falls whilst his fingers tighten upon the blonde's collar yanking the male forward.

The way in which the blonde's features contour has him pushing him back against the tree. He expects more from this man. He expects a show of strength, and a determination unrivaled among his own. He expects this man to put forth the effort. He's showing none.

He's refusing to fight.  
What right does he have to do such a thing?

 _If they had the right to refuse this war wouldn't have lasted this long._

"Is this how far we've fallen Sasuke?" his features don't contrast with the raucousness of his voice.

It's enough to make him want to be the one creating distance between them. There's an accusation behind such a tone. The grip upon his arm tightens as if to hold him from doing so. Who was he to question if they've fallen? There is no falling where they stand right now. This male knows just as well as him there is no true hero in war. There is only survival. There is only pushing forward to see your goals obtained.

There is only making sure you walk away from the _land of the dead_.

They were no longer little boys. They were no longer children. They understood the world they lived in. These boys had become men. They had aged. Their once small, and childish shoulders had become stronger, and firmer as they grew. There is no other path than this for the likes of them. Years had transpired since their times playing tag. Too many months to count had come and gone since their naive times of running without a care. All those days from long in the past were just that— _the past_.

 _Sasuke, meet Naruto—I hope you'll become wonderful friends_.

That feeling. That foreboding is lingering. It's caused the firm press of his lips as they stare at one another.  
Why did this man not understand?

 _You'll do that for me won't you?_

The Senju, and Uzumaki were getting what they deserved. They had brought this all upon themselves. They proclaimed love, and yet they took without remorse well before now. He understands completely. To fail in this mission would be to let down the generation meant to take their place. It would allow them to grow up without their fathers, and even more without their mothers.

He knows that feeling all too well.  
He knows what it's like to be without a hand to hold  
—to be without a _mother_.

He hadn't been able to hold onto his mother.

All that panic below the skin. It's finding it's way up and out through his being. He can't let it show. He won't let it show. Sasuke Uchiha refuses to let this man know he's hesitating—Sasuke Uchiha is no different than his uncle.

He is an avenger.

 _I hope you can be good friends just like his mother, and I_.

It's such warm memory. It's such a warm _thought_ —and it's the only one he's being granted. The chains have come and they've bound the blonde successfully. He knows that vibrant red anywhere.

That's right she, too, is an Uzumaki. Karin Uzumaki can use the Adamantine Sealing Chains. This is how they will take the beast that sits bound to another from her clan. Obito has done his portion. He's kept Karin from harm, and now he will protect her as she takes what will give them the power to stop this war.

 _Mother_.  
Something isn't right.

* * *

He's gone and out of her sight, and it takes everything in her to keep from following after him. She's needed here where his men are being brought down. They're fighting hard to defend their homes, and those they stand beside. Twisting herself allows her to doge one of the attacks before another one lands and a gasp of a cry is let out. The senbon needles have plunged deep. She knows better than to immediately yank them free but that reaction is powered by instinct.

These men live for this. It's death before dishonor, and just the same she is following their shadows. Hands stretched out and glowing upon their torn skin. Repairing what once has been. She can break the laws her team is bound to.

 _She doesn't because that's not her role in this_.

She had avoided the land of death before dishonor. Always staying on the sidelines, and standing within camps far from the chaos. Those fires that warm the skin, and that sweat that sinks itself within the wounds is something she had only ever experienced once. It had been the last thing she had wanted. She had been forcibly thrusted into it by the act of wrong time and wrong place.

Those memories are never truly _far_.  
They are always just below the _surface_.

It had taught her. It had molded her.  
It had shown her what it meant to be unfortunate in a world that had brought so much misfortune to those around her.

She couldn't bring her father home— _she could only gaze as that light left his eyes_.

There was no stopping the way war had cast a shadow upon her small insignificant village, and upon her loved ones.

To love someone. To be in love with someone.  
To love with all of your being.

It's a fearful thing— _because death can touch that which you love_.

That's right. She couldn't bring her father home  
—but she _hopelessly_ wants to bring home Sasuke.

She wants to bring him _, and_ his men back home.  
Yes. That's her _role_. That is what she is _here_ for.

Their blood may define them but they are more than that which binds them. That's why she tells them to stand even when she disagrees with all that's before her. These men aren't finished yet. Respecting their pride, and their honor is all she can do—to do it is a service to not only her husband but to those awaiting their return.

 _Everyone had someone waiting from them far from the Diyu_.  
The land of the dead was not meant to hold so many.

Shifting her foot and raising her arms up has almost costed her gravely. That sword is too close for comfort. That sword does little in stopping her from lunging forward in an effort to protect herself. She's rusty and without practice but carries all the will necessary to hit her mark. The biggest tragedy is how much she's holding herself back. There is no malice and no ill intent behind her actions.

Just the desire to bring her clan home from this manslaughter.  
No—perhaps the tragedy lies in the what ifs.

Or maybe it's the _almosts_ that bury them deeper before the gods that must weep for them?

This was brought about by the schemes of _men_.  
Potential wasted and their dearly held ideology nothing but a sham.

These men used to be alive, but now it's as though their mythic. They used to have the desire for peace, but it's clear both sides have lost such hopes. The times have shifted and this war is stronger than ever. It holds battles of no remorse, and no care for their own loved ones.

Perhaps they had already _died_.  
If they were _alive_ wouldn't they be able to see that which she sees?

 _She bows before neither of these so called men_.

Knuckles collide and the grip upon her wrist is tight. There's no time to be wasted as she's rushing forward and pushing them within the ground. Hands upon the newest one injured and a slice across her cheek are a reminder that, _yes_ , she is alive. There's so much frustration on this land, erratic and fast paced. That restraint she's been exercising falters as she thrusts her fist forward and breaks the air filled with such hate. She knows she's gone too far as they skid across this wasteland— _she had just wanted to defend herself_.

They may have words of _law_ , but the sword holds _order_.

Turning. Twisting.  
The _flood_. The _gateway_ to the heart.  
Eyes _unsure_ of where to _stop_.

All of this around her is a world unlike any other. Lungs cease to have air and she feels so mentally off kilter as another body liters the floor just within her line of sight. There's a level of hysteria— _a madness_ —so unlike the loss of a patient after they've come off the battlefield. To witness such acts against mankind consistently must alter the way they viewed the world.

 _Altered the way they hope for better times_.

This is only her second time having to gaze upon the brutality as it occurs. Her husband had grown upon such dead land, and so had those who had answered his call to stand beside him. How much tragedy had they withstood only to become pawns in the personal struggles of their leaders?

 _They're falling so fast around her_.

Knees scrape against the terrain as hands apply pressure to their wound. They're bleeding out, and it's painting her within it's color with their attempts to stop her. Frantic fingers tug upon her own before pressing against her arms and chest as if it would be enough to free them. This wound has made them far to weak to accomplish such things.

Could they even _see_ her?  
Could they even recognize she was on their side in the _grip of death_?

The whimper of a child grabs her attention and halts her fingers. Unforgivable. That man has slain a child, and in return another has grappled upon their back digging their kunai deep inside the offender's neck. Heavy breathing and the immediate need to keep them alive overcomes everything. There's no saving them when they've been cut so deep, but she's unwilling to stop her attempts. She just has to save this man before she can attend to the child. Iron floods all of her senses, and her devotion to save this man has caused her to miss the shadow looming from behind. Turning her head her fingers halt in their healing— _can't it all just stop_?

No remorse. No regret.  
There's no place for that.

The land is rained upon in blood—perhaps Huangdi has slain Chiyou once again?  
No—t _he Gods would not allow a repeat of such a battle_.

So she wishes to believe.  
 _Yet, look at where she stands_.

That's how she pushes off the dead child, and disregards the man she had tried in vain to save. Overwhelmed and overflowing in ache. This cruelty both sides show makes everything about this sick.

She became a medic to save lives, not to steal them away. That hope. That belief. It feels so out of reach as she swings her leg forward and collides it against the opposing Senju's throat. She's not wishing to deal lethal damage. All of this is done as a means to defend her and her wounded. Her principles are screaming to find a way to make it stop—to find a way to halt this blood bath.

How can she when her family is the one that refused to speak?  
She might be _his_ wife, but she holds no power upon this land.

Only those who have stood upon it hold any true power.  
 _He's stood here for years_.

Couldn't _he_ halt their weapons?  
If Sasuke spoke wouldn't they listen?

The crash of her heel against the earth sends it rolling. It sends the embers out into the sky and their flags waving. Reminding herself to breath is all she can manage as that wire wraps around her. Flesh cut and tight within its pull.

Startle decorates her as she gazes at who has brought her to her knees. There's a burn and a choke as the desperation piles itself up. Stopping them. Stopping the battle. That's all she can think to do. She can't do that if she lets this man kill her. Healing them takes too long. It just prolongs it all.

Sending them back out moments after their defeat.  
 _She can't bring them home if it all ends here_.

They're dragging her by the throat and that desperation has her fingers covered by leather and blood scratching to pry it off. Digging her feet deep against the ground is meant to keep them from having complete control. There's no thought to use her monstrous strength. Just the will to live hot and heavy upon her knee jerk reactions. One more wire wraps upon her and takes away her hand pulling it in another direction. Tears burn within her eyes and brows pinch as she flexes her bicep to gain some kind of upper hand. Her leg is the next one out from under her allowing her skin to scrape across the land.

The attempt to speak and yell for them to stop is silenced with just a twist of their wrists. Pulled from all directions they're taking her down. Three against one and the constriction of blood makes her scattered mind disperse even further.

They'll _rip_ her apart.  
She cannot even begin to _draw back_.

Air _gone_.  
Eyes _unable_ to close.  
Fingers _against_ wire.

It's slack and that inhale is full of regret as it leaves her coughing upon the dirt. Sweat slides down her face as the mantra to keep breathing echoes within her ears. Heavy attempts for oxygen begin and her heart drums against her chest. Fingers press painfully against it as if it'll keep it locked under her rib cage. Another shadow covers the ground before her and the reaction is immediate. That monstrous strength has made its way back and has her shoving herself back as a means of defending herself once again.

"Sakura." her name is spoken with so much comfort unlike all that chaos that has been ringing within her ears.

That heart beat heavy against her chest flutters for an entirely different reason. It's not out of fear. It's not out of the desperation. It beats because this is the first real familiar face among the many fighting around her since it had escalated to this point. Hazy in thought there's the question of how he had come to stop them from ripping her apart. She wants to question it, but she can't seem to stay focused long enough to utter such a thing. Fingers shake as they reach to take the one extended out to her. They're on different sides. He shouldn't be helping her.

Perhaps it's the gods— _they've called in a favor_.

Lips part as her raspy tone calls out, "Kakashi-san?"

"I made it to you just in time." she can barely catch what he says as she's helped upon her feet, "We have to move. They'll kill Naruto."

That's all he has to say and she's stumbling behind, "This isn't a battle anymore." her legs feel weak and her throat sore but that's the last thing she can think about when he tells her Naruto might die.

 _That ankle that throbs is the least of their concerns._

"We had gotten word before this—your husband intends to kill him while he's down."

Two head towards them but it doesn't slow down their steps. Vaulting over them keeps her from losing pace even as he's able to run past them in ease, "What do you mean?"

"Madara intends to take the nine tails from—Naruto." the flip back he makes has her skidding to a stop "Your husband has been—instructed" the kunai he's pulled out soar making his own men disperse to avoid harm, "to kill him once it's done so we can't take the nine-tails back."

He's taken off again and it doesn't take but a second before she's right back beside him passing the mass of men, and passing the mass of children brought to appease their leader's desires, and worldly views.

Madara truly had no intent at seeking peace.

He wants the Senju wiped from the earth.  
 _And her husband is meant to assist_.

Death is to come before dishonor, and yet how does this not dishonor what her husband seeks? Her husband lived for his people, and he lived for his clan. Could they stop him when he follows it so resolutely? Her husband's shadow is long since gone. There's no doubt he intends to do as he's been told.

She'll plead with him. She'll beg him to stand down. Sakura will do whatever it takes to try and make him understand. This isn't a battle. It hasn't been a battle since the moment Madara had sent word to gather. This was personally driven with no hope for peace. Sasuke was more than the flesh that binds him. He was more than the eyes that mark him. He was more than just his birth. He had told his men to remember their worth. When was the last time he remembered his own? When was the last time he was just Sasuke, and not Uchiha?

Surely, he would _listen_. Surely, he would take what she says into account.  
Surely, he would trust in his _wife_.

But to have agreed with such methods and madness—  
 _Perhaps it's that which buries them in the end_.

Surely, he remembers just as well what he is truly worth—  
 _and will stand against the sword that orders_.

* * *

 **Author Note:**

Happy New Year, my dudes!

So a quick note as I made a reference that some of you may not know. Huangdi is the Yellow Emperor, or also known as the Yellow God. They are a deity in Chinese religion. The importance and reason or the reference of this figure and battle has to do with the Battle of Zhuolu. In the battle of Zhuolu the Yellow Emperor slayed the tyrant Chiyou. The battle lasted for 10 years resulting in the Yellow Emperor's victory after he summoned a drought demon. It is also said that due to Chiyou's death it rained blood for some time.

I felt this was a good reference because the god's allowed a ten year battle to ensue and a god almost lost. For most of the battle the Yellow Emperor was at a disadvantage, but in the end managed to end it. The cost tho was many were slain including the tyrant, and due to the loss of this tyrant the sky rained blood down upon the land. As this chapter talks a lot about the land of the dead/the realm of the dead/a place in which people die I felt this was a good thing to reference as it holds a lot of symbolism and reference in smaller ways to the the battle even though they may not be obvious.

It's been far, far, far too long. Much longer than I wanted. Much longer than I intended. Yet, here we are finally. I wanted to actually post this before the New Year. I had a lot of hopes haha but that didn't happen between cosplay, family, the fanzine, holidays, and work. I had some motivational issues, and some fears about posting this before I truly felt comfortable. When I posted chapter 17 you had officially caught up to me on the master file. I didn't want to post anything else until I put some comfortable distance between the online posting and the master file. Usually that means me being at around 100 pages (I'm around 50-60 something, aka chapter 22). I wasn't able to get to that point, and after one particular anon on tumblr wrote me I decided to get fuckin good this week. I normally can have my beta, beatoneheart look something over and do like the revisions in about a day. I couldn't seem to do that with this one. There was just so much clean up needed. Lots of things got rewritten. A lot of things got added. If we're being honest and 18 chapters later I'm sure we can all agree my dudes, I'm always ridiculously honest—I absolutely hate this goddamn battle that's about to unfold. I care about the main points of it. I care about the things that matter, but I hate the build up sections to get to those parts. I literally hated writing this and struggled to get this battle done, and it's a long one. This battle will literally take up the next like 3-4 chapters. So get ready for one long ass adventure on just this section alone.

Regardless I'm definitely glad to just get this out so we can get to what I feel is more important in the next few chapters.

I will say though I have already written my wip for the fanzine which has to do with The Uchiha's Wife. So be sure to get yourself a copy so you can get that exclusive oneshot. I won't post that anywhere even after it's been released as I want it to be a special treat for those who buy Connected.

Now onto the good shit. Cause ya'll better than me tbh kek

 **Guest Reviews**

 **Guest, who said my words were like art** \- Thank you so much for thinking I did Chapter 17 well. As I had said there was definitely some pressure when it came to that chapter so there was a lot of nervousness in it not being as good as everyone got excited for it. I hope I can continue to give the quality content you deserve cause god dude I just wanna make you proud fuuuuuuuuuuuuuu  
 **Guest, who called me their beautiful author** \- I'M SO GLAD. DJAKLDJSKLDJAKDJSA DUDE THAT'S ALL I WANTED WAS TO GIVE THE GOODS. Dude 100% nothing wrong with that. Some people are about the xxx and some not so much. I definitely wanted to make sure that I provided a decent balance of build up for those who wanted it but made it easy enough that you can skip it and it doesn't hurt you in any way from doing so.  
 **Guest, who couldn't handle the feels** \- djsakjdsak awwww my dude yissss I'm so glad you loved chapter 17. Thank you so much for reviewing ahhhhh  
 **Guest, who liked how I analyzed Sakura's POV** \- I'm glad you like it my dude thank you so much! You're not wrong war literally doesn't care about what people got going on and that's always a draaaag.  
 **Yoonie** \- Thank you so much for thinking my writing is good dude. I appreciate it. I always have room to improve in this little hobby of mine but love to hear someone enjoys how I do things. God man I WAS WAITING FOREVER TO GET THEM DOING IT. IT WAS SO HARD TO WAIT IT OUT.  
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 **Wag my schmall pale girl ratchet twin** \- JALSJDKSLADSA MY MUTHAFUCKIN DUDE SEND ME YO BILL. I GO TSOME STUFF STASHED BACK FOR SUCH OCCASIONS. GET YOU THE GOOD SHIT. Shit man them seasons sound like Ohio. We fuckin get four in a day and it's just a moment of acceptance that outsiders don't normally get fuuuuu Yeaaah nah like I agree a lot of time smut just is so abrupt and can be found immediately when scrolling because it just smacks you in the face. #SNORT THE SALAD WAS DRESSED JESUS CHRIST I'M HOWLING I'M DYING HOLY SHIT JASDJSAKLDJSKAL dude naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah send me the longest of reviews I love it dsjakdjsalkdjsakl I'M SO GLAD I WASN'T THE ONLY ONE WARPED ON THE DO BY FANFICTION LIKE HOLY FUCK THANK YOU YES SOMEONE ELSE. We hsould start a goddamn AA group for it I swear to god. Till next time my duuuuuuuuuuuuuude of duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuudes #insertlennyface  
 **Guest, who said it was worth it** \- Thank you so much dude! I appreciate that time, and patience with stuff like this cause sometimes it can be a real struggle waiting for this stuff. I think for characters like Sasuke you have to have a moment where they really get the chance and opportunity to express themselves properly, and I love having the chance to do so because I want him to be just as expressive with his own wants when it really needs to be said. It becomes such an important thing for characters that don't do that often enough.  
 **Mejima** \- Oh god I know right. You're not wrong dude. Like it's not often that it's a v on v moment but I definitely feel like with so much going on they really didn't have a lot of time for stuff like that so it made things a bit more simple.  
 **Guest, who is excited to read more about them** \- SAME DUDE. I JUST WANNA GET TO THE GOOD MARRIAGE STUFF WITH THE WHOLESOMENESS UGHHHHHHH legit though like I'm glad we've had first times and can work on more aspects than just the sexual portion.  
 **Bleach Power** \- Sauce is a very dramatic character to write to a point and I honestly enjoy his portions more than I do Sakura's as weird as that sounds. I guess I just find it more fulfilling which is why his stuff usually tends to come out nicer I've noticed OTL  
 **121696** \- I WANTED TO WRITE YOU PRIVATELY BUT IT SAYS YOU DON'T ALLOW IT BUT OMG YOU SWEET CINNAMON ROLL MAKING AN ACCOUNT OT REVIEW AJDKLJSAKJDSAKJDLKSA YA'LL KILLIN mE I SWEAR #grosssobbing  
 **Kandii** \- I feel like male characters aren't allowed to cry enough. I feel like we subject them to the idea that only on the worst of the worst moments can a dude cry and the thing is like nah fuck that dudes should cry when they get upset or frustrated or feel lost. It's a very good emotion to show and have because it keeps you from overloading and overfilling yourself to the point it breaks you down too far and too much. I want this boy to be able to cry and to let those frustrations and worries out so much OTL GURL YOU JUST WAIT. THOSE IN THE FANZINE KNOW THE GENDER KEK YOU TOO CAN FIND OUT EARLY BY GETTING THE FANZINE AJDSKAJDKLSJALKDSJA srsly cannot wait for prego saku tbh  
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 **TheDailyRoutine** \- Thank you! I do think one reviewer made a good solid point though. I think i definitely lacked and could of used some actual sexual tension. Overall everyone though seems happy regardless and I'm so glad to hear the same from you since you always review!  
 **Guest, who said best chapter ever** \- Thank you!  
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Guest, who said 17 was the chapter they were most waiting on - I'm glad you liked it my dude thank you so much!  
 **Guest, asking about Sarada** \- Who said they had to have Sarada? Who said they couldn't maybe possibly have _multiple children_?  
 **Irina** \- I hate fanon super feminist must be a mary sue Sakura with an absolute passion. The over need to boost her and twist her character has always been something that's massively frustrating. You can be strong in so many ways without going to this fanon level a lot of people have hit. As a fan of her it's frustrating because I liked her canon character. Sometimes the greatest of battles are one based on presense and the way you handle yourself in a calm manner. Professional situations dictate this is a proper way to go and it's for good reason. It shows confidence and security in yourself. I think those are actually really wonderful traits ot have. Learn what battles need to be fought, and the power to know when it's needed. Yeeeep 18 deep and still scared of dialogue gonna probably die like this kek OTL I'm also glad to see you liked Sauce's time to develop. I can say though he has a long way to go. Thank you so much for your time and I hope you continue to enjoy it!  
 **Guest, who brought up my usage of the word 'eyes'** \- Firstly thank you for taking the time to read and review my work. I appreciate it immensely. As for the eye thing. I've actually been messaged about this a few times and responded to it. It's a handicap security blanket for me. I understand where you and others are coming from and maybe at some point i'll do the switch but at the moment this is kinda what suits me best and flows well for me. I hope you can understand that. Thank you regardless.  
 **Guest, who thanked me so much** \- no no thank you I appreciate you enjoying how I've written and handled my story I appreciate it immensely my dude djsakdjkskajdskal I just wanna hug you jesus.  
 **Guests, who asked for an update** \- my bad yo, here's that update i'm forever late on OTL Thank you for your time regardless


	19. The Pandemonium

x.x.x

 **Chapter 19**  
The Pandemonium

* * *

Exhausted and worn she's fallen with her hands digging within the earth. Those scarlet locks the only thing vibrant in this state. It's those strands that keep him connected to the present.

The oxygen she's taking in makes it perfectly clear how much this task has drained her. The nine tails is no longer bound by the Uzumaki. They've seized him and taken control. Words linger upon his tongue never entering the air even as he watches Obito reach down and grip a hold of her arm. After everything she's done to remove the tailed beast they're still not done with her. There's a part of him that feels the need to stop this—there's something eating away at him as he watches this.

This feels wrong, but this is what Madara demands.  
All of this feels like it's _too much_. What they're doing right now—could you possibly say this was right?

Was this what their ideals had turned into?  
Had they become as cruel as the Senju and Uzumaki who had painted their love in the blood of others?

Were they truly any _different_?  
Were they not one and the same using such methods?

"You know what you have to do."

He doesn't need to be reminded of what's expected from him. He remembers the words scrawled upon the scroll. He knows what his part in this is. Yet, it doesn't lessen the way this continues to dig further and further upon his moral compass.

Hesitant. Unsure. He's of two minds.  
Yet, he gives that nod of his head.

The way this man drags off his teammate has him wanting to reach out—to yell for him to stop.

To extend his hand and take a hold of her.  
Protect her. To save her.

He won't. He can't.  
To do so would be to go against what Madara has already put into motion. The way their treating her—she's no more than a tool.

She was a person. She held a heart. She held a purpose beyond that of a tool. She was no different from him or them.

 _She had a worth beyond this plan_.

"Sasuke! Help me!" her hand flies out as if to reach for him before being yanked without care.

 _As if she is nothing more than an object_.

She's never dared to say his name without a horrific attached. No apology he gives will ever be enough for what he's allowing them to do—for allowing this person who had stood beside him unwavering and all on her own to be used so maliciously.

 _And now against her own will_.

The scream she produces and the desperation that echos with the night haunts him. It twists him in uncomfortable ways. Refusing to lift a finger as she tries in vain to stay only makes this feel even more disgusting—more _sickening_.

He can do nothing.  
He is not the leader of their clan. He is just an heir meant to inherit the throne.

That's how he'll battle the guilt—the wrongfulness of his part in this.  
 _He'll cling to the fact he's not in control_.

Inhaling deeply and removing his eyes from her only increases the disgust before he casts his eyes upon the male who can no longer defend himself.

Step after step—each one slow and careful. Naruto Uzumaki is no longer a threat. He's on the verge death after having lost the nine tailed beast. Madara had gotten what he had wanted. Obito had succeeded and now all that's left was to finally be rid of the blonde. Yes.

Madara demands this. He orders it.  
 _He will follow his leader down this road_.

He'll further dirty his already scuffed moral compass.  
He'll ignore the increasing cracks that form upon it.  
He'll ignore the voices screaming within his head.

It's bittersweet as he watches the weak rise and fall of his chest. He's known this boy since he could remember. Their mothers had been close friends—a war separated them but they defied refusing to lessen their bond. It was overlooked and it was ignored all because she was a direct heir.

Whispers had filled the funeral when she had passed.  
— _they had mocked and made claims no child should hear_. _If she hadn't been friends with that Uzumaki maybe she'd have lived_.

Maybe she wouldn't have left her children behind.

 _Traitor_.

His tongue slides against the roof of his mouth. The resentment from that time has lessened over the years. It has become a dull ache.

This boy hadn't harmed his mother—no, she just happened to be on her way home from visiting them when she was murdered in the name of war. Senju and Uzumaki were one and the same to him. They stole his mother from him, and robbed him equally of his father. The days where they played in their garden were nothing now.

 _Could you have called them friends?_  
Naruto had chosen the Senju, and he had chosen the Uchiha. They knew nothing of each other now outside of the battlefield.

No. They were never friends. Their mothers were, but they, they, were _never_ friends.

What would his mother say if she saw him preparing to kill her bestfriend's son? His throat constricts at the thought. He loved his mother far more than that. He would do whatever it took to avenge her. He feels lost in time—if he waited here forever would this feeling die? Would this sudden fear that his mother will forsake him disappear? He won't cry if he kills this boy his mother had doted on as a child.

He won't regret this.

They had tried to kill each other plenty of times before this— _Never had they been so close_.

This is different. This situation is real. He's going to kill this man—he's going to kill Naruto Uzumaki. He's going to kill someone his mother had cherished. She'd understand. She'd know he was doing what was right by her brother's decree. There would be no shame upon her face for doing what he needed to in times of war. Fingers curl around the hilt of his sword and as it clicks from its hold it's slide is slow and steady. That floral pendent his wife had given him swaying equally as slow with such movements.

"Sasuke-kun! Stop!"

Freezing he can't help but follow the call of her voice _—how_? How had she found him deep within the chaos? The grip upon his sword becomes loose as he takes her in. She's out of breath and followed behind.

Seeing someone so close to her makes his grip tighten once more until he can clearly see who is with her—this man had made it clear he adored his wife during the festival.

"This is war Sakura."

Can she see how conflicted he is in this moment?  
Can she see how much it's twisting him to know he's going to kill someone so precious to his mother?  
Can she see the way his moral compass is spinning erratically?

Does she see the disgust brewing inside for himself?  
Does she know he's dying inside?

Those even steps are there and there's no missing the wounds she's suffered on the battlefield. They're not serious. They're not fatal—but there is blood, and discoloration upon her skin and that's terrifying enough.

It's around her throat, and so many other places.  
But as terrifying as that is there is something far more frightening in this moment that he's clinging to.

 _Is this where her love came to a halt_?

She's stopping him. She's keeping him from slaying the enemy. They knew each other. Naruto had said it right before her dance. He hadn't asked. He hadn't meddled and now it's clear he should have. Had they always been close even before she became his wife? Was he also cherished by her as well?

Naruto had gained his mother's affection and now he would take Sakura's from him just the same.

This. This is what hurts. This is what makes him question what he's done to deserve his enemy taking everything from him. All of this— _everything he's ever lost_ —was thanks to the Senju and Uzumaki.

He loathes himself or being so weak. For playing into such thoughts—but how could he not?

He had reached out for her when he had known better. He had known not to give her _any_ part of him. He had— _he had given in to her_. He had fallen for the anguish he had put her through. He had been desperate to fix all the cruel things he had done to this woman he had finally begun to see as his wife.

He rightfully deserved such things—yet the self pity in him refuses to accept that. He had lost so much already and the world was continuing to take everything from him.

 _He hates this blonde_.  
Because projecting his self hatred onto Naruto is easier to accept.

Fingers tighten around the hilt only to loosen a moment later. He wants to scream at her—she's the one being cruel now.

 _How can she stand with them when she said she supported him_?

She's not with him— _she's betraying him_.

She is the one who's cruel for coming into his world and lowering his guard.  
She's the one who had made claims she wasn't intending to keep in this moment.

 _She is the one he had desired to go further down the road of life_ _with_ _and now they were diverging_.

He'll loathe her too instead of overcoming his own faults—his own disgust for what he's willingly becoming.  
 _If it wasn't for her he wouldn't feel like this_.

His mouth has gone dry as he tries to keep himself composed. She's ruined him. She has completely destroyed it all. He wants to take back everything he's ever tried to do and every attempt he had made to understand her better. He wants to take back believing she had become an Uchiha.

— _as if it had been her birthright_.  
 _As if she had loved him deeply_.

He had never asked for a wife. He had never asked for any of this. All of it had been decided for him.

 _He wasn't given a choice in any of this_.  
Yet, he _had_ been the one to let her in.

He wasn't good enough for her. He wasn't good enough for her to put him before the enemy.

The tightening of his jaw slackens and then the control he always seems to have in place breaks in two. There's no way to stop the way his eyes flutter and the way his mouth quivers alongside his heart that drops so painfully within his being. His eyes descend from her to the dirt below only to clamp down in an effort to keep himself together.

"S-Sasuke-kun?"

Teeth dig painfully into his bottom lip as she speaks— _she sounds as if she's panicking_. She has no reason to be panicking. She's not the one being betrayed. She's not the one being cast aside— _he's not the one abandoning her_.

It's just her pushing him away for the family that came before him.

He had wanted a family with her—he had wanted her to be he one that brought a new life into his world.  
 _He had wanted her_.

His eyes snap open and it's here and now that he realizes he has to stop her. He had done what his leader had told him not to—there's was no guarantee she wasn't carrying his heir.

 _He would not have her rip more from him_.

Hands _shake_.  
Palms _sweaty_.  
Eyes _burning_.  
Sword raised _high_.

She had dug her roots deep—she had squeezed through iron and pushed through stone.  
He would cut them down.

He had said he would not gaze upon her with these eyes so many feared.  
 _He had been wrong_.

He can barely hold his sword still—his heart is loud and the trepidation it sends throughout his body only seeks to send his mind further into the confusion and loathing that's painted within him.

"You don't have to do this! Sasuke-kun, please!"

That's all she has to say to dislodge his voice from the bottom of his throat—it's filled with petulance soaked in disquietude, "Shut up!" The way she shrinks back before him sends his heart aching before him, "Not another word— _not from you_!"

"S-Sasuke-kun—This isn't war! This is a _slaughter_."

He's seen this look upon her face before. He saw it when he murdered that medic so long ago. He saw it upon that woman's face when she begged him to give mercy. She's covered in terror as if he's already run her through—

He can't take her back— _not when she'll betray him again_.

 _If he can't have her he'll be damned if the Senju will_.

Can she see how he's vacillating as she protects Naruto? Can she see how much her choices have completely twisted his world?

 _Does she know_ _how much he's_ _dying inside_?

He won't cry if he kills her. He'll rebuild what she's dug her roots into. Their ideals had truly been far too different—

 _He'll burn everything down_.

His spring wife is daring a step closer and those fingers that had brought him comfort within their two years are raising. She's stopped all at once with a hand on her wrist.

Yes.  
 _He'll burn it down to the ground_.

"This isn't her betraying you." there's an exhaustion in those words as that male he had trusted in Konohagakure to keep his wife safe restricts her from coming closer.

Here she is against him— _not with him_.  
Yet, this man claims otherwise.

He is a criminal without a crime. His good fortune had run out this time. There's always a reason. There's not always a rhyme to follow behind it. Those eyes of hers are glowing and just as equally those viridian are showing all that she intends.

She stands before him _unable_ to compromise.  
 _That much is clear_.

When he was already so hesitant and so lost in the direction his leader was taking them she does this to him. She sends him over the edge, and she casts him aside. Why should he care if the Uchiha are no better than the Senju?

Why should he care? "Sasuke-kun."

 _He's not crying_.  
He won't do so in front of her again.

Those shallow breaths, and those twitches that come from her muscles. Tense cannot even begin to describe this moment between them. He's out of time. He must make a choice, he must follow a faith, and he must cast this ache aside and move forward. Not once has she ever stood before him quiet like this, "Sasuke-kun!"

 _No he's certainly not crying_.  
But he is _most definitely_ _dying_.

He's absolutely running out of time. He's lost in time and he's certain this ache will never die. He's truly a criminal. _—_ _and he holds all of their crimes_. He is the one meant to be the example. He is the one meant to show his people where to go.

He's choosing his leader.  
He's choosing what he knows is wrong.

 _He'll choose anything that'll hurt her the way she's hurting him right now_.

She's never turned against him. She's never been one to lie. That look upon her face—the tightening of her jaw, and that gaze that bleeds through the night—she's always been honest and she's always held her heart upon her sleeve.

 _It's the joining of two people_.  
 _A union_. _A marriage_.

He can question it all, and yet he knows he won't find the answer of how they now stare back at each other at odds. This woman was his wife, and the one he meant to keep beside him. This woman was one he had allowed himself to trust, and the one he had wanted to bring new life into the world.

This woman.  
 _He trusts her_.  
That's what makes this _bittersweet_.

She loves him.  
 _Deeply_.  
She asked for _his love_ to be just as deep.

He had agreed and allowed himself to feel such a way when he decided that the Uchiha clan was just as much her birthright.

He had trusted her.  
He had felt so much pride in her.

 _If I could bring all of that pain you hide onto myself I would do so._

He knows this battle is wrong—he knows it's exactly what she says. This is a slaughter. There's no denying the claim. This was no longer war. This blood bath while great and one of the largest was no battle. She was here to rein him in. She was here to make sure he didn't falter and head down the wrong path. She was the voice that would lead him back from the chaos.

 _She was the voice inside his head as Karin was dragged from him_.

Could he kill her?  
Could he kill what he had allowed her to obtain?  
Could he close her out as he had when they first met?

To anger and fight Madara would be to go against the Uchiha.  
 _Could he go against his leader_? _Could he go against his family_?

Isn't that what he is expecting of her?

A shift of his foot and the fall of his crimson from her viridian comes. He doesn't know what the answer is. He doesn't know what he's supposed to pick.

Would following her down this unknown road be the right choice? Would he regret not killing Naruto down the line? Would he forever harbor feelings of distrust because of what she's doing now?

 _Why do you continue to follow blindly at his call?_

His hand wavers and with it his sword scrapes the earth. He's at the end of the line. Alone in his head—waiting for something divine to answer him. Drowning in silence he prays to make it through. Out on the edge as all these things echo internally.

The storm winds are blowing.  
His dreams are falling apart.  
 _Just like_ _her._

He's crying internally.  
Because he cannot do this— _he cannot harden himself to do what he has to_ _._

That concept of him and her.  
 _It's blowing away_.

And he hates himself for it—he places such hate upon her to make it easier to live with.

It's that lack of time that seeks to make it clear he's lowered himself upon the battlefield. It's that pounding of his chest and that pain deep within his gut. This man. This Senju always catches him when he's bewitched, and it just proves _she would be his end_.

It's her voice that makes his eyes force themselves open as the contents of his stomach cover the grown and upon his person. The gravel and stone he had set to walk upon with her has given him padding but scratched all that it could touch— _h_ _e's here._

The force is harsh and enough to send his head back and mind reeling. That punch has made his mind halt to two simple questions—what was he doing here, and was this ever even truly a war?

It's the collapse of waves echoing out internally.  
Why does his heart feel like it'll break further than just in two?

"Kisetsuma-san!"

He cannot control the roll of his head and that blur of his eyes. She'll leave him and there's nothing he can do. She'll return to this man who sought her out so violently. _He can't protect her—he can't protect any of them_.

"It's okay." there's so much warmth in Kisetsuma's words for his wife, "We'll take you back here and now. I'll protect you from him."

He feels it deep within—

"Kisetsuma-san, what are you—?"

"I won't let the Uchiha hold you any longer. You will no longer be a prisoner of war."

This exchange.  
It's the death of a desire—

The vexation. The distress. The exasperation. The absolute loss.

 _It's her choice_.  
It's always been her choice.

She could hate him. She said she loved him.  
She's slipping through his fingers. This man will take her even though they—

"Kisetsuma I am not a prisoner—"

"What lies have they been feeding you all this time? These Uchiha—they've done everything they can to turn you against your family and friends"

—even though he's the one she said she loved with all of her heart.

He must confess that he feels like a—

"I will protect you."

 _Monster_ _._

All of that loathing, and poisonous vexation he's placing upon everyone but himself.  
It's revolting.

He's barely aware of what he's even doing. Everything in his world has fallen out of reach. He can't protect her. He can't protect the Uchiha. He can't even protect himself. He's lost his sword somewhere. He's lost the ability to feel just the same. He's lost his mother. He's lost his father. He's lost his brother. He's lost his uncle. He's lost his grandfather.

— _and now he's losing his wife and any possibility of a child_.  
He's losing the possibility of a family.

His heads thrown back as this Senju strikes him once again, but that doesn't stop him from throwing his own fist right within their jaw. Dirt finds its way deep within his nails as he twists to make himself rise.

"Sasuke-kun move!" her voice is shaking, and terror-stricken as it comes within his ears.

She's calling out to him—if he caught sight of her right now would she be in tears? Hadn't she abandoned him already? Why is she calling out for him at all? She had chosen to protect Naruto over standing beside him.

 _She had chosen them over him_.

He's managed to do as she's plead out, but that doesn't change the fact that he's raising his hands up and lacing his fingers together before bringing it down upon this Senju's back and preparing to raise another fist. All of these things are barbaric. All of these things aren't strategy. They're literally beating each other down. They're doing everything in their power to harm the other.

She's clouded all of his judgment with her abandonment—that's what he tells himself when he feels that foot connect with his stomach before the ground shakes with an almost godly force. It's enough to make them both halt and look to her.

She's taken her arm back, and that male of silver stands beside her ready to attack, "Don't touch my husband." her breathing is erratic as if she's been sent over the edge just the same.

It's enough though to send his mind back into pandemonium. She's claiming him. She's making her position as his wife clear—even though she stood against him.

 _Even though she—_

"Don't you want to come home?"

His knees are weak but he's pushing himself up. There's a stagger to his stance, but he's not backing down. There's swelling in his left eye, but that doesn't stop him from looking at her with his right just the same. Pressing his hand against a tree he's steadying himself even more, "Sakura."

"He is my home—" her voice has broke and it's as those fingers twist within the fabric of her warn torn clothes against her chest that she finds it once again, "To hurt him is to hurt a part of me!"

He's still and there's the lightest of feelings within his chest—this woman saw him as home. It hadn't just been him looking to her for that feeling of home. These words. These feelings.

 _They're a lie_.

He can't trust what she says. She'll trick him once more.

She'll lower his defenses and then twist the knife she's dug between his shoulder blades deeper.

 _How can she say these things?_

Yet, here she is. Here she is making her feelings clear even to this man who had sought her out. She had said she loved him with all of her heart—and that's what makes his mouth drop. She felt that his pain would harm her just the same. She saw him as a direct part of herself.

 _Is this what marriage was?  
_ A union? A joining of two?

His fingers curl into a fist and his teeth grind together—he had never asked for a wife. He had never asked for any of this—but he definitely wanted _her_. He wanted to keep his trust in her. He wanted to keep that unbelievable pride for her.

He wanted to have a family with this woman. He wanted to continue walking down this road with her. He wanted to travel through the gravel and stone. He wanted to come back to that world of spring she makes a possibility— _yes,_ _he wanted her_.

 _God, does he want her._

He _can't_.  
He _won't_.

Because it's all a lie. Everything this woman spills is for show and not out of love.

 _If she had loved him she wouldn't turn against him at a time like this_.

 _Yes.  
_ She's brought him into complete disarray.

His mind had broken out into pandemonium— _and she almost sadistically continues to shove him into it further without remorse_.

He can barely hear her. All he hears is noise. It's loud. It's hot upon his ears. It's too much to take in. Shaky fingers hesitate to raise. Lightning flickers upon the tips. To reach for her out of comfort or in an attempt to harm her he's unsure. He doesn't know what he wants anymore.

She's thoroughly split him in two.  
 _He's of two hearts_.

 _It all truly echos internally_. Failure.  
Just like him.

He can't find such things like that right now—she's completely out of arms reach as his head cracks against the tree he had used for support, and his body is thrown up within the air. The instinct to defend himself is there but it doesn't lessen the blow of being tossed across the battle field as he seeks to shield himself with his arms.

 _Her voice is so much further now_ _than it ever had been_ —it's masked and drowned out.  
He's crying.

* * *

 **Author Note:**

Ayyyyye, dooooooooooope I'm still alive. Somehow? My dudes I'm officially 27 today haha and so with this birthday I present to you chapter 19. I've been up to my eyeballs in foam, glue, and more with Katsucon being next week. I wasn't about to not keep my word though, and so here we are. I get to dip my feet deeper into ol' maidhood, and you get new content. I can't celebrate until after Katsucon, but once I can you can bet imma take a shot for this chapter cause god do I get off on breaking baby boy down. I'm a weird sadist with some masochism issues. I swear. It kills me inside watching characters go through hardship, and turmoil, but I also love it at the same time especially when I'm the one causing it. I feed off that shit legit #shot

God. I'm terrible kek.

Thank you to TheClosetPoet7 for helping me name my SenjuOC. I struggled and homie came in with so much help on this. God I've been waiting for him to be name dropped for so fucking long ughhhh. I wanted to follow the ending "ma" theme that the series had with the Senju and so it wasn't easy to be honest OTL

Also the truest of stories. I had a dawning realization that I had literally made Kisetsuma fucking Gaston from beauty and the beast. I didn't know I had done it until weeks ago. I remember just walking into discord and messaging beatoneheart and being like "HOME GIRL I MADE A GASTON AND IT WASN'T EVEN INTENTIONAL AND I CAN'T EVER UNSEE THIS #REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE".

When beatoneheart first saw this chapter way back when she was so upset over it, and that's how I knew I had done something decent. She was so sad for him, and yet mad that he would even think of killing her after everything that's transpired between them. That's what I wanted. Complexity in response. As humans we never feel just one thing. We feel everything. She loved him, and he questioned that love. We question love so much. We silently test each other whether we realize it or not. We seek to see if the person who says they love us truly does. We take misunderstands and we get angry with them. We trust a little less after a misunderstand no matter how much we want nothing more than to believe what the person before us is telling us. We feel our heart sink when neither party backs down. We ask each other to do things we ourselves would not. We hate and push that upon others. We victimize ourselves when we need to take ownership and responsibility for being wrong because it's easy. We grow anxious when we think someone's leaving our side even in a bout of anger when we dare to think we'd be better off without them. We turn away instead of standing against we know is wrong. We can be cruel and see others as tools. We're insecure in ourselves, and we project that. We place it upon others to make ourselves feel better. Anger isn't just one thing. Sadness isn't just one thing. Happiness. Confusion. We are complex by nature. We are not two dimensional. We are so much more than that as people. We have room for growth, and we have faults. We gain and lose them as we get older. What we thought today can change tomorrow. What we believed in one moment can change in the next.

I wanted that. I wanted that not only for him, but for the reader as well. I wanted there to be that moment where in a story so unrealistic in a lot of ways it gained some humanity.

God knows if anyone else thinks I did this, but I do and thinking on it that's all that matters. So to myself. Happy Birthday boo. You did a good attempt, and that's what matters.

Anyways. . .Man I'm gonna eat some motherfuckin tiramisu to celebrate when I get back and it's gonna be _fuckin great_ #inserttonythetigerhere

Until then, please get some cake or whatever the fuck ya'll like. I love celebrating with you guys even if I can't IRL until after my shoots. Fanfiction is a pretty sweet way to celebrate.

Guest Reviews:

 **Guest, who loved Chapter 18** \- Ahhh thank you!  
 **Guest, who felt this battle would make them anxious** \- Gonna be legit with you. It probably will. There's a lot of twist and turns in this and we've got a bit of this for a while. You're not wrong about the moral ambiguity. I hope the way in which I touch on that in the upcoming chapters will be something you look forward to. I definitely touched on this and have no problem saying it's coming.  
 **Mejima** \- It might take a bit, but I will finish this. I'm in far to deep to let it never be finished. So no worries. Thank you for reading, my dude! I appreciate your patience.  
 **Guest, who loved how deep and rich Sakura's development has been** \- she's got a long way to go but I agree. I'm happy with how I've got her growth going. Thank you for reading!  
 **SerriousCoffe** \- As requested I have started an AO3 under the same handle as here, Ombree. I don't have it updated as far as due to Katsucrunch, but I promise I'll get it there. Thank you so much for reading. Also can I just say how like dsjadskakjdskal it makes me feel hearing someone mentioned my work in a comment section on there. Like god the case of the shy mixed with excitement hearing that is too real.  
 **Oblivious girl** \- You're absolutely welcome, my dude. Thank you for reading!  
 **Guest, who's happy when they get a update notification** \- My pleasure, my dude! Thank you for reading my work!  
 **Homie G aka The one who didn't bother to log in, but still gonna do it to save this work and get notiffs when the author updates aka the lazy one** \- ASJDASKDSA MY DUDE THANK YOU AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I crash bandicoot woahed over your review haha Definitely not gonna drop this, and more than happy I could start off your 2019. I've come to far to drop this. Sasuke is actually my favorite to write. I don't feel like he's written nearly as much as he should be. He's not easy by any means, which i think is why people typically do Sakura's pov, but I just love him too much not to continue going for his pov. You have the saying down haha no worries. Thank you for thinking of my work so highly. I appreciate it immensely. You definitely matter. When I first read you review I was more than excited to respond. It gave me the feels. Legit. Stuff like this always gives me the blushu and shit and I do this weird noise thing where I squeal over such things. It gives me a lot of motivation. Thank you, my dude!  
 **Guest, who said this is the quality content we need** \- dskajkdsadsakdsa thank you ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #insertweebblushu I try I swear OTL  
Bleach Power - Kakashi from accounting is definitely there as guidance to some of what occurs. Although we're a long ways away from Team Seven stopping anything at the moment.  
 **Guest, who said it was amazing** \- Thank you for reading!  
 **Guest, who said story was getting intense** \- it's gonna be a definite rollercoaster and we've got so much to go ahhhh  
 **Guest, who said it was an amazing read** \- Thank you, my dude!  
 **Irina** \- I hope your exams went well. Thank you for taking the time with how busy I'm sure you are for coming back to review. I appreciate your time. djskajdksal I'm glad I could write something that you cherish and consider special. I went back to hunt for what you were talking about and couldn't find it. I'm sorry. I respond to so much, and while that's no excuse it's hard sometimes to keep up with everything people have sent me. I apologize for it regardless. I definitely like to live by that principle of, "Learn what battles need to be fought, and the power to know when it's needed". If we fought every battle we'd surely lose more than we'd win. We'd be too exhausted to fight the ones that matter most. It makes me feel good that someone else agrees with that particular thought. Too often we lose ourselves and sometimes it's good to think on that kind of principle. Ahhhh can I please hug you? You gave me feels over something so small djsakldjskaljdskal


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